


Flying In A Blue Dream

by Silent_So_Long



Series: Kreuzberg Dragonshifters [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Digital Art, Dragons, Dragonshifters, First Dates, First Time, M/M, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Urban Fantasy, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul finds his life changed in more ways than one when he meets a certain stranger</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a new series from me that doesn't involve vampires! Instead, it involves another mythological creature which I love very much - dragons! XD
> 
> Title comes from the album as written and recorded by Joe Satriani.

[ ](http://s1368.photobucket.com/user/paulchen2/media/flyingBEFUNKY_zpsoulplzve.jpg.html)

****

Paul shuffled across Alexanderplatz, yawning slightly beneath the weight of tiredness that seemed intent upon pulling both his shoulders and eyelids down; his sleep the night before had been less than restful, and the late spring warmth was making him feel drowsier still. He smiled, despite his weariness, and squinted against the sunlight, as he dodged out of the way of a pushchair toting mother, who seemed intent upon ploughing him down, instead of manouvreing the baby's vehicle around him.

The paper bag he carried wrinkled and crinkled with his sharp and jagged movements, sending the smell of freshly baked soft pretzels up into the air in a welter of warm yeast and the heavy scent of cinnamon and sugar. His stomach grumbled with the promise of his sweet snack, and his mouth watered wth the promise of the same; although he'd eaten the baguette he'd also purchased, filled with chicken and red onion relish, whilst he'd walked from the bakery to his own shop, he still was hungry. He gave some serious consideration to ripping hungrily into Flake's ham and tomato baguette, yet knew that that would be the cruellest thing to do to the other man, despite his ongoing hunger; Flake undoubtedly needed his own lunch and so, was quite likely as hungry as Paul himself was. 

Neither man had eaten since earlier that morning, and even then, the breakfast they'd snatched had been scant and perfunctory, the smell of toast and vaguely melted cheese filling the air around them as they rushed to leave the apartment they shared to reach the shop in time for opening hours. The shop itself was a business they co-owned together, and they both were the only staff that worked within its walls; they sold and bought comic books, both old and new, and they read as many themselves as they sold to their customers. Paul had often said that it was called 'Comic World' for a reason; comics literally were their world, for the most part.

Paul sighed as he finally reached the door of Comic World, and slid inside, the familiar ringing soft chime of the bell hanging above it dinging with the sounds of his ingress. He closed the door softly behind him, and inhaled sharply, in the way that he always did upon entering; the smell of paper and books always made Paul feel oddly comforted somehow. He smiled as he passed the generously stuffed racks of comic books, brightly coloured front covers seeming to leap and to leer out at him, proclaiming odd titles, and odder storylines, and the usually-kept promises of action and adventure held within their thick paper covers. 

Flake appeared from the gloom of the staff room out the back, hands wrapped around the handles of a couple of mugs of coffee; the freshly brewed scents of the coffee itself filled the air as redolently as the aromas of the comic books themselves. Paul dumped the paper sack of food down upon the counter, before he swung through the employee's gate to join Flake behind it. He nodded towards the sack, feeling some of the guilt and second-hand shame for being impatently hungry seep through him, to settle upon his face and twist his mouth down into a soft and worried little pout.

"I already ate my baguette," he said. "I almost ate yours on the way here." 

"You'd better not have done," Flake said, darkly, as he set the mugs down upon the counter, using a spare piece of paper to shield the wooden surface from accruing two coffee mug rings. 

In that he was more studious than Paul; Paul himself was a little more slapdash and happy-go-lucky, slamming his things everywhere and leaving messes that Flake cleared up and continuously complained about. Paul also was notoriously accident prone, which made Flake's complaints and sarcastic comments grow ever louder; those acerbic asides always fell inevitably on deaf ears. Paul knew that despite it all, Flake didn't mean it; his complaints always were meant as a sign of friendship and affection. The more that he complained, the more he cared about a person, or so Paul had found in the years that he'd known the other man. 

"I only took a few bites," Paul said, facetiously, in response to Flake's earlier comment. "It's not like you'd notice, anyway. One of the pretzels is mine, however. Don't lick it." 

Flake grunted and looked as though he was about to do so anyway, out of spite, yet a sudden slow grin worked its wicked away across his slim face; his hand stayed where it was upon his baguette and didn't stray anywhere near Paul's pretzel. Paul smiled and laughed and pulled the soft bready treat towards himself, before he tore hungrily and appreciatively into it. Some of the sugar and cinamon stuck and smeared against his lips in a grainy coating; his tongue lapped out to remove the sweet covering with a sudden soft noise of appreciation. 

"You are disgusting, Paulchen; I hope you know that," Flake murmured beside him, as the door swung open to admit a small gaggle of customers into the store. 

"I not only am fully aware of that fact, but I actually invented the term," Paul said, as he grinned awkwardly around his pretzel filled mouthful. 

Flake huffed, and turned away, to deal with the new customers; his baguette lay upon the counter, partially eaten and tempting, yet Paul did little more than to steal a slice of tomato from one end of it. Even though the tangy slice of fruit did not go with his pretzel, he gulped it down anyway, more out of badness towards Flake than for any other reason. Flake, however, did not notice, too invested in finding the 99th issue of Deadpool for one of the teenage boys that crowded noisily in the aisles. Paul listened with some amusement, as he continued happily chewing on his pretzel, smile mostly hidden by the bready snack, induced by Flake's acerbic replies to some of the things that the teenagers were saying; it seemed as though his friend and flat-mate was taking no shit from the boys, who seemed intent on perhaps jerking Flake's chain, unsuccessfully. Paul shook his head, as whatever they'd been arguing about, it came to an end with a victory to Flake, and the boys trooped to where Paul still sat, to pay for their purchases with some disgruntlement. Paul wiped his fingertips free of the remaining sugar and cinnamon, after first sucking on them lustily, before he rang up the purchases on his till and took the money after announcing the total of the purchase for each boy. He returned to the remainder of his pretzel, after they began to file out, Flake settling like some lanky disgruntled bird beside him.

"What was all that about?" Paul asked, from around his mouthful of petzel. 

"Hmm? Oh, you know, just kids messing around, trying to get a discount because they bought more than two each," Flake replied, with a roll of his eyes and a disconcerted twist of the mouth. "Must think we work for free in here, or something."

"Or that we were born yesterday," Paul continued, filling in on Flake's oft-repeated diatribes against the follies of youth.

Flake, at least, huffed a laugh at that and nodded agreeably enough; whilst Paul had heard the same complaints a thousand times before, he had to agree with him a little. Then again, he knew that Flake didn't mind the haggles or the sometimes cheek of the customers; it made the day a little more interesting, and he knew that the day that Flake stopped enjoying being amongst the comic books that they both loved, then it would be time to jack it all in and sell up. He knew that they both were a long way from reaching that end, however. 

Paul popped the last bite of his pretzel into his mouth and chewed slowly, swallowing it with the last swig of his now-warm coffee. He stood with a soft sigh and a groan, joints popping in protest after having sat for too long behind the counter. He stretched, hands pushing the air high above his head, before his arms fell by his side once more; he brushed the last of the crumbs from the front of his t shirt. Whislt old, worn and obviously well loved, the t shirt had previously been clean, yet now sported twin streaks of brown from the cinnamon, and sported sticky patches from the sugar. Paul sighed and trooped through to the staff room, to wash the offending smears away as best as he could, whilst he boiled the kettle for a second, hotter cup of coffee. 

He trooped back through to the employee's section behind the counter, to retrieve the used mugs fom the counter, as Flake started in on his own pretzel, similar in size and taste to Paul's had been. Flake grunted out his thanks but said nothing otherwise, eyes scannning the store and the shopping centre beyond the window for potential customers, or at least the patch of shopping centre they could see past the closely stacked racks of comic books that aligned the store. Paul retreated back into the staff room to wash the mugs, to load the bottoms again with instant coffee, and it was as the kettle was finishing its boiling cycle again that he heard Flake speak; although his voice was barely audible over the noise of the kettle, his words were not and Paul waited the remaining few seconds until the noise had stopped before he shouted through to the other man.

"What? I didn't catch that," he said.

"I said, are you still going on that date tonight?" Flake asked, voice a little clogged with the pretzel he still seemed to be eating. 

"Yeah. What of it?" Paul asked, with a shrug that Flake was destined never to see, considering the other man still was in the other room.

"Just wondered," Flake said. "What was the guy's name again?"

Paul wondered then if perhaps Flake was trying to test him, to trick him into perhaps admitting he'd forgotten his date's name. He huffed to himself in affectionate amusement, before he replied.

"Johannes," he said.

"Nice, is he?" Flake asked.

"I have no idea," Paul said, with a tired laugh that spoke more of his frustrated weariness with the dating scene than anything else could. "It's a blind date, don't forget." 

"Ugh. Yeah," Flake said, obvious distaste clear in his tone at the thought of it.

Paul nodded, in agreement, even as he brought the now fragrantly smelling mugs out to Flake. Flake caught the tail end of the nod and the strained look upon Paul's face, and a look of worry crossed his own face in response.

"You don't have to go, if you don't want to," Flake pointed out, and there was genuine concern in his voice. "No one's forcing you, you know. You can just ring him, and cancel, or just not turn up, or something." 

"I don't know his phone number," Paul said, flatly. "And it seems rather a dick-ish move just to stand someone up for no good reason. And I know it's been done plenty of times to me, before you start." 

"All the more reason to do it now, if you have qualms. Karmic payback and all that wonderful shit," Flake said, with something that touched upon a grin upon his face. 

"Qualms and karmic payback, all in the same breath, almost," Paul said, with a teasing grin at his friend. 

"Stop trying to change the subject," Flake pointed out, but he didn't look annoyed, merely weary. 

"I'm not, well not by much," Paul admitted. "Truth is, I am half tempted to just not go. But then again, the only thing that's stopping me is how do I know that this guy, Johannes, is not the one? You and Olli have been desperately trying to get me back into the dating scene again for ages." 

"I know, but you've got to be happy doing it, haven't you?" Flake pointed out, not unkindly. "Look how long it took me to finally settle down with Till." 

"Yeah," Paul said, with a shrug. "I'll think about it. In a way, I know you both are right. It has been ages since I've seen anyone. I'm getting a little lonely for company, I think. And I know I still have you, before you start in on me again." 

"It isn't the same, though, is it? We're not dating," Flake pointed out. "Not anymore, at any rate." 

Paul huffed out a laugh as he took a sip from his coffee, eyes closing in gentle enjoyment of his drink. He found himself thinking of the few awkward dates that he'd shared with Flake, back when they'd first moved in together; those dates had been fun, in their own fashion, yet something had not quite clicked between them, some undefinable spark had refused to ignite into something hotter. As a consequence, they'd mutually agreed to just remain friends and flat-mates first and foremost. Whilst they enjoyed their adjusted, distinctly friend-only, relationship, Paul often found himself wondering what it would have been like if something had progressed between them, if Flake hadn't then found himself a boyfriend in Till Lindemann, who owned a luthier's a few doors down from theirs; he looked to Flake then and knew that he was happy enough with how things currently were with the other man. He valued his friendship more than having Flake as a partner and potential bedmate, after all.

"What?" Flake asked, suspiciously, having caught the tail-end of Paul's brief glance. 

"Nothing," Paul imediately said, a little embarrassed at having been caught out.

"It's not nothing. You've got a funny look in your eyes," Flake said, a little insistently.

Paul sighed; he knew that Flake was implacable to the last whenever he sighted something which he particularly wished to know. 

"It's nothing," Paul repeated, wearily. "You'll only get abusive or something, anyway." 

"Try me," Flake replied, with a snort of derision.

"I was just thinking about how much I enjoy having you as my friend," Paul said, with a wry twist of his lips, expectant of a sharp comeback, which he duly received.

"Fuck you, Landers," Flake immediately said, proving himself to be as predictable as ever.

"Told you," Paul said, with a smirk.

****


	2. Chapter 2

Paul made his way glumly from out of the Luzia bar later that night, shoulders slumped and head drooping beneath the weight of his own disappointment. His soul felt flat and mind listless; the date had not been as successful as he'd tenuously hoped for since leaving his flat earlier that evening. Even up to the last minute, he'd been quietly debating whether or not to even show, then decided that the least he could hope for was a decent meal, and a free drink into the bargain, if nothing else. 

The bar itself had been nice, and one he'd visited on occasion before. Johannes had been easy to find, sitting at the bar with the proposed pre-arranged single Black Baccara rose laid in front of him as an identifier. Paul had approached him, introduced himself and straight away felt as though he fell short of the man's expectations. Johannes' eyes had raked Paul's body and his lips had pursed in dissatisfaction; he'd even had the cheek to state that he'd thought Paul would be taller, as though anything less than that was undesirable. 

Paul had sighed and put a brave grin on things, yet found himself floundering when the conversation inevitably turned to vocations. Johannes, it turned out, dealt with computer programming and was something of an inveterate snob; when Paul revealed that he part-owned a comic-book store, Johannes had all but sneered and called comic-books the reading matter of children and nerds. He'd also looked at Paul as though he couldn't decide which he was - a child or a nerd. Paul had felt himself bristling and only the timely arrival of the barman had deterred him from walking out of Luzia right then and there. After that, the conversation had turned distinctly even more sour and stilted, both men discovering that their music tastes were so diametrically opposed as to be actually laughable - Paul's preferred choice of punk and metal music clashing horribly with Johannes' operetta and high-brow classical. Whilst Paul could appreciate a little of Strauss and even Bach on occasion, it seemed that his preferred tastes of Metallica and The Ramones was met with something akin to outraged disgust by Johannes. 

The night had grown progressively worse and Paul was glad when the night ground to a close, and he was able to finally leave, to push the memory of the bad night far behind him, where it belonged. Before actually leaving, he'd mutually agreed with Johannes to never see each other again, and Paul, himself, was glad of it. 

Paul slipped behind his wheel of his car, glad for the fact that he would be able to drive home with the Ramones blasting upon the stereo to calm his frayed nerves.He grinned as he thought of Johannes' face should he have heard 'Sheena was a Punk Rocker', or 'I Wanna Be Sedated' blasted at full volume from Paul's car stereo. 

"No doubt the stupid twat would have had a coronory," Paul muttered to himself as he eased the car out from the parking space he'd left it in earlier in the evening and angled it out into the street. 

The traffic itself was light that night, and Paul allowed his mind to drift as he drove along, hands and feet automatically finding the levers and pedals, as he signalled, and manouvred his way through Berlin streets towards home. As such, he wasn't paying close enough attention to the road, and he bowled someone over, just as he slowed down to take a left turn. 

He felt the bonnet connect with something solid, saw the oval of a pale white face suddenly reflected in the car's headlights, and a solid, almost sickening thunk only heard afterwards in retrospect. He skidded to a halt mere millimetres away from running the guy over again, and he sat in shock, heart hammering away in the trappings of his chest; it took Paul a while to realise what had happened, for his brain to catch up with his body. He slipped from behind the wheel, hands shaking almost uncontrollably, mind whirling with panicked thoughts, as he knelt beside the fallen man, who seemed not to be moving. He also was laying beside two hefty suitcases, which made Paul feel inexplicably worse; the guy must have either returned from holiday, or was potentially leaving for one. 

"Fuck," Paul said, as he stared down at the man sprawled unmoving before the nose of his car. 

Paul noticed, despite his shock and his accident-related fear, that the man was attractive, eyes closed and mouth set into a full, strong line; even his jaw was strong and keenly cut. His body was sturdy beneath well fitting clothes, shoulders broad and touchable. He was lucky to still be breathing, Paul noted with some relief, chest moving steadily despite the utter stillness and closed eyed state of the rest of him.

"Jesus. Are you all right?" Paul asked, even though he knew that he had no hope of the other man even answering him, let alone potentially hearing him.

He sighed and looked around, desperate to see someone, anyone who could help him; he cursed vociferously when he realised that he was the only one down that particular street, other than the man he'd knocked to the ground. Paul growled another curse at himself, before he stood and managed to open the back door of his car, to drag the unconscious man onto the back seat, with some effort and plenty of cursing, swiftly followed by the man's luggage. He knew that he had to do something to help the still as yet unknown man; he had an inherent distrust of doctors, and of hospitals and as such, the only person that Paul knew that he could trust to help out, was his own flat-mate.

****

"That had bloody better not be Johannes," Flake said, as he looked down upon the man still sprawled in the back of Paul's car.

"No, it isn't," Paul replied, sharply. "It's just some guy I ran down in the street. Help me get him inside before someone sees him and decides to shop us to the cops for attempted murder or something." 

Flake huffed, and much to his credit did as Paul had asked, hands gripping the man's legs as Paul took his shoulders. They hefted, grunted and dragged the man into their flat; Paul was glad for the fact that they lived on the ground floor, for he knew that they couldn't have carried the invalid much further. For all his earlier fear and stress lending him the strength that he'd needed to carry the fallen man on his own to his car, Paul found that that strength had all but ebbed away in the drive over. Instead, he felt weak with his growing fear that the man still would die despite his best efforts, that something bad would happen just because he hadn't paid enough attention to the road when he should have. It hadn't helped that the man was heavier even that he looked, body heftier than it possibly should have been.

"What the hell have they been feeding this guy? Concrete?" Flake observed, out of breath as he stared down at the man newly interred upon the sofa. 

Paul hummed in distraction, but it was though Flake hadn't even spoken. He still was worried about the state of the man's health and whether he even should have moved him at all. Flake, at Paul's insistence, gave the man a quick once-over, yet Flake, who'd once wanted to be a doctor and had, indeed, trained for the position for a while, could find nothing wrong with him.

"I can always call a doctor friend of mine," Flake said, before he smiled a little self-deprecatingly. "And by that, I mean a genuine, qualified doctor." 

"Is that safe?" Paul asked, suddenly a little worried. "I mean, if we're gonna do that, I might as well just take him to the hospital now and have done with it. I was kinda hoping to avoid doing that."

"I know, and it's safe," Flake assured him. "Stephan often does things a bit on the QT. He's used to that; anti-establishment and all that, so it's safe to say he's on our side and knows to keep quiet. He's one of the old guard, who remembers life before the wall came down." 

"Ah," Paul said, and he relaxed visibly, even though his mind wandered through a lightning-quick rendition of a hundred different memories of East Berlin, pre-1989, when all had suffered, and more had tried to escape the regime as it once had been. 

He shuddered and forced himself to think of something else, something more pleasant; thoughts of Comic World almost did the trick of distracting him. Flake, meanwhile, wandered away to make his phone call, returning only to announce that, Stephan, his doctor friend, would be over within half an hour. Paul merely grunted and joined Flake in staring down at the man still laying motionless upon the sofa. Flake was the first to grow bored and to turn away, slender shoulders hunched slightly with his irritation. 

"He's not waking up, Paulchen," he observed, unnecessarily. "The least you can do is come into the kitchen and help me with the coffee, then you can tell me what the hell is going on, exactly. You know that you still haven't."

Paul grunted again, and followed the other man into the kitchen, where Flake soon pulled mugs and coffee from the cupboards. Paul filled the other man in upon his abominable date, which had ended up in an accident.

"You never know; you might be in luck, after all. The guy you ran over is probably 'the one'," Flake said, with a sudden wicked grin. "You were fated to meet, since Johannes was such a distinct and utter arse-hat." 

Paul snorted, even as he shook his head.

"I'm not sure this is the time to be worrying about things like that, Flake. Hell, I don't know if I believe that there even is a 'one', you know?" he asked, softly, as the kettle boiled loudly nearby. "I haven't been lucky yet. And even if this guy is 'the one', then what chance have I got after mowing the fucker down? He'll never forgive me." 

"Yeah, but you did take him home with the intention of looking after him. That's gotta be worth some bonus points in anyone's eyes, surely," Flake said, pointedly, as he poured the heated water into the mugs, activating the coffee grounds into aromatic life. 

"Maybe," Paul conceded, knowing that he could never win against Flake, once his friend had an idea caught in his head.

Flake really was the epitome of a dog with a bone, worrying and worrying over something, until all around him had to agree with him or suffer the consequences. A sudden stirring noise emenated from the living room, then, and both men in the kitchen exchanged glances before they made their way silently across the room; they both curiously peeped past the kitchen door to observe the man on the sofa.

****


	3. Chapter 3

Whilst their unexpected visitor's eyes were not yet fully open, his body, however, looked distinctly more animated than it had previously, fingers and legs twitching and shifting, as though the man was testing out his extremities to see if everything still worked. Paul felt a sudden stab of guilt at that, as he knew it would have been his fault should anything bad have happened to the man, before he padded into the room; his movements, the sound of his passage and the smell of the coffee seemed to rouse the man still further, into actually opening his eyes. Paul almost gasped when their gazes locked; the man's eyes were an unusual shimmering colour caught halfway between green and blue, and seemed to have an almost inhuman sheen to them, like twin jewels trapped within a wearied face. Whilst Paul had thought the man attractive before, the stranger's unusual eyes lent him an inhuman, yet infinitely beautiful, cast, that made Paul's heart stutter within his chest.

"Hi," Paul said, awkwardly, uncertain as to what else he was supposed to do, or to say.

Flake snorted out a sudden choked laugh at that, as though he, too, thought that Paul was being particularly awkward. 

"Hi," the man on the sofa said, and it seemed as though Paul's salutation didn't seem particularly strange to him. "Where am I?" 

"Our flat," Paul said, as he gestured vaguely behind himself and Flake, unable suddenly to drop his eyes from the man's face.

"Am I still in Berlin?" the visitor asked, in a way that suggested he thought that Paul's answer was a little too vague. 

"Yeah," Paul said, with a grin and a nod. "You're in Kreuzberg. Urbanstraße, to be exact." 

"Good. You ran me over," the man said, as he squinted at Paul. "Why did you do that?" 

"It was a bloody accident. I'm sorry," Paul said, words suddenly flooding from his mouth in a worried rush. "I took you home. My friend's a doctor, or he's as good as. I thought you were injured." 

"There's not much chance of that happening; I'm pretty hard to seriously injure," the man said, as his gaze shifted from Paul to Flake. "But thank you. I guess most people would have just left me there, I suppose." 

"Yeah," Paul nodded. "Obviously, I'm not one of those people." 

"No. Thank you," the man repeated, with a smile that time.

Paul couldn't help but notice that the smile, brief though it was, was really rather a nice one, that warmed the stranger's unusual eyes and brightened his face a little. 

"There is a doctor on the way, as in a real one," Flake interjected, as he padded forward. "I called him to give me a second opinion on how you are." 

"Send him away," the man said, sharply, as he glared ferociously at Flake. "I don't need a doctor. I'm fine." 

As if trying to prove a point, he got to his feet and each movement seemed fluid and easy, as though the man had suffered no true motor damage in the accident. Paul was surprised at how large the man seemed, even though he only had a few inches on Paul himself, and was on a level with Flake. Paul supposed that it was the man's sheer broadness that lent him the supposed extra height, shoulders broad and arms seeming to hold a promise that they could cause harm if wielded in the wrong way. The rest of his body seemed nicely rounded however, and Paul's eyes travelled downwards, taking in every soft dip and curve upon the other's body. He only realised that he was staring when Flake pointedly gave him a jab in the ribs and Paul looked away, a little embarrassed. 

When he looked at their visitor again, Paul saw that although the man was aware of Paul staring, he was smiling and didn't seem in the slightest bit offended by Paul's scrutiny. Paul couldn't help but notice that now that he'd stood, the man's gaze travelled and flickered in equal measure over Paul's own body, as though, despite his amusement, he couldn't stop himself from checking Paul out in turn. Paul felt a sudden sparking something pass between them, undefinable yet irrevocably there and hard to ignore, all the same. Paul smiled, embarrassment fading away slightly beneath what he assumed was genuine interest from the other man; he received another sharp jab in the ribs from Flake, at that. 

There came a knock at the door, which Flake readily announced must be the doctor; Flake was promptly sent away, by the stranger insisting yet again that he still did not want or need to be examined by anyone else. Convinced of the new man's apparent well being, Flake complied, still sipping fastidiously at his coffee as he did so. Paul didn't hear the exchange at the door, yet he fully expected the doctor to be annoyed at having been called out at such a late hour for seemingly no good reason. 

"I'm sorry, I should have asked; would you like a coffee?" Paul suddenly asked, to fill the awkward silence that had fallen between the stranger and himself, realising only then how inadvertently rude he'd been. 

"That would be nice, thank you," the man said, with some surprised gratitude, before he gestured at Paul's mostly empty mug. "It smells good." 

"It's only instant coffee, but it is nice," Paul conceded as he gestured for the man to follow him. "You know, you've been in our flat for almost an hour and I still don't know your name." 

"Likewise. It's Richard," the newly named Richard said, as he padded after Paul. "Richard Kruspe." 

"I'm Paul," Paul replied, with a smile, as he turned to look over his shoulder, smiling when he caught Richard's gaze resting firmly upon his butt. "Paul Landers. And my lanky friend, whom you've also met, is Christian Lorenz, but he will insist that you call him Flake." 

"Paul. Flake. Got it," Richard said, with a soft smile. "So are you two ... you know. Together."

He looked embarrassed at that for having asked such a question. Paul laughed suddenly, getting the gist of the man's question and shook his head.

"Partners? Hardly! He is the closest friend that I have though, but definitely not a lover," Paul said, and he thought he saw Richard's posture loosen a little, as though in some great relief. "You? Haven't you got a partner to go home to? Shit. Perhaps we should take you home, if you have. They'll be worried." 

"No, they won't," Richard said, bitterly. "I've only just arrived in Berlin today. I was actually looking for a place to stay, when you ... made your presence known." 

He laughed and didn't seem to mind the fact that Paul had essentially almost come close to potentially killing him with his car. 

"I am sorry about that," Paul said, distracting himself from his continuing guilt by assembling another couple of cups of coffee and switching the kettle back on again.

"I know. You didn't mean to. I don't think you're in the habit of running people over ordinarily," Richard said, as he raised one eyebrow. "You're lucky I'm pretty damned durable." 

"So I see. Normally I'm not quite that clumsy, although I can be quite accident-prone," Paul said, with a self deprecating laugh as he handed Richard his mug. 

He stared at Richard for a few seconds, thinking about what Richard had said about having no partners to return home to, and the very obvious fact that he'd just arrived in Berlin, before he made a decision. 

"You know, you can stay here for a few nights, if you like," he offered. "We actually have a sofa bed in the living room, if you wouldn't mind crashing on that. You were laying on the thing just now, actually." 

"I couldn't presume to impose," Richard said, even though it looked as though he was genuinely tempted by the the offer. "Hadn't you best check with Flake, first, at any rate?" 

"I'm sure he won't mind, although you're right, I'd best check to see he's okay with it," Paul replied, with a shrug. "But seriously, the offer still stands. Call it recompense for running you down."

Richard laughed at that and Paul discovered that his laugh was deep and almost filthy, as though Richard was privy to the dirtiest joke ever and only he knew the punchline. Paul found that he quite liked it and he, too, laughed, even though he wasn't quite sure what he was laughing at. Flake wandered through a few moments later, with the sourest expression upon his face.

"I hope you both realise, that I've just had the most uncomfortable examination for hemorrhoids," he exclaimed, as he slammed about the kitchen, with obvious painful disgust.

"What the fuck for?" Paul asked, with a sudden hoot of laughter.

"I had to think of something to tell the bloody doctor, didn't I? I couldn't send Klaus away with no explanation and no reason for even being here," Flake pointed out.

"So you said you had hemorrhoids?" Paul asked, and even Richard was laughing. 

"It was the first thing that came to mind and I said it before I could stop myself," Flake said, with some embarrassment as he flickered a quick glance towards Richard. "And yes, life usually is like this in this flat, before you start wondering." 

"It's fun, at least, I suppose," Richard said, with a shrug. "Better than sleeping on the street." 

"Oh, yeah, by the way, I offered Richard the use of the sofa bed in the living room for a few nights," Paul said, with a swift grin at Flake. "He needs somewhere to stay for a while. He only arrived in Berlin, today." 

"I'll just bet you offered," Flake said, cryptically. "And you can do what you want; it's your flat, at the end of the day. I guess it'll be good to have another body about the place, though."

Richard grinned at Flake, despite the fact that the lankier man had already turned away. Paul returned Richard's grin, instead and offered him the grand tour of the flat; Richard duly agreed, but the tour didn't last long, as Richard had already seen two of the six rooms in the entire flat. Paul rounded off the tour, by showing Richard where the bathroom was if he needed to use it in the night, before he then settled Richard in the living room. He helped him to pull out the sofa bed, and to drape blankets and pillows upon the soft and squidgy mattress, before he went outside to retrieve Richard's previously forgotten luggage from his car. Paul made sure that Richard didn't want for anything, before he announced, with a weary yawn, that he should get to bed; he had an early start at work, the following morning, after all. It was as Paul was turning to leave, that the other man spoke softly behind him. 

"You didn't have to go to all of this trouble, you know, Paul; not really," he said. "I hate to impose on you, after all." 

"You're not imposing. I wouldn't have made the offer, if I thought you were," Paul said, as he turned to stare at the other man, a slight frown soon pushing creases between his eyes.

Richard stared at him, with his unusual, luminescent eyes before a slight smile flickered across his face, and he nodded, gratefully at the other man. 

"I dunno what else to say, except thanks. I'm just not used to strangers showing me kindnesses, I suppose," Richard said, gently. "I'd better not keep you any longer. Good night, Paul." 

"Okay. G'night, Richard. See you in the morning," Paul replied, as he turned away again, with a smile.

****


	4. Chapter 4

It was raining by the time that Paul was forcibly awoken in the night, and his bedroom was dark. For a moment, he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts and trying to remember quite what had awoken him. He glanced at the clock, and saw by the numerals glowing large and red in the darkness that it was a little after three in the morning. Paul groaned, eyes drifting closed again, and sleep sucked at his senses, threatening to drag him under before he even found out the reason behind his startled awakening.

He was startled awake yet again a few moments later, when he heard a soft whimper, followed by a sighed and frightened little exclamation emanating from the living room; Paul was wide awake in an instant, and swinging his legs from beneath the covers. He padded across the room, and cracked open his bedroom door; from there, he could hear the muffled sounds of Richard sleeping, and what sounded like a pretty bad dream from where he was standing. He padded out into the corridor, when he heard the soft snick of Flake's door opening; Paul wanted to stop the other man from perhaps potentially disturbing Richard. He didn't think that it was perhaps a wise decision to wake him whilst in the throes of a nightmare; knowing Flake, he wouldn't have the same idea. His flatmate wasn't known for being sympathetic, despite his boyhood dreams of becoming a doctor.

"Flake," Paul murmured, in an attempt to stop his friend from even leaving his room. "Don't wake him." 

"Why the fuck not? He woke me, and, apparently, you," Flake pointed out, eyes tired and oddly naked without his glasses.

"Yeah, but isn't there that rule or something saying that you can't wake someone while they're having a nightmare? Might do irreparable damage," Paul said, with a shrug, uncertain suddenly whether he even was right in his assumptions. 

"Whatever, Paul," Flake said, as he rolled his eyes. "I'm going back to bed but I'm blaming you if I can't sleep, because you won't wake your new boyfriend." 

Paul opened his mouth to protest, but it was as Flake padded into the bedroom, that he realised that all had fallen quiet in the living room. Flake paused in the threshold of his room, having heard the silence also, yet he didn't come out. Instead, he stared pointedly at Paul, yet Paul still saw the frisson of concerned worry behind his flatmate's eyes. 

"I'm gonna check on him," Paul said, in the face of Flake's resultant nod.

He was gratified to see that Flake neither disagreed with him, nor tried to stop him, nor did he even attempt to join him. Instead, Paul walked alone to the living room, and peered through the gap left where the door had been left partially ajar. As expected, Richard was awake upon the sofa bed, staring up at the ceiling from beneath the shielding cover of his hand flung listlessly across his eyes. At the sound of movement in the doorway, slight though it had been, Richard glanced over and he affected a small and weary smile for Paul's benefit.

"Sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked, as his hand fell away from his eyes to lay beside his head.

"Yeah," Paul admitted, with a shrug, as he padded properly into the room. "It deosn't matter, though. Sounds like you were having one hell of a nightmare there, man." 

"Yeah, I guess I was," Richard said, and he looked a little embarrassed. "It's stupid, childish stuff; I wouldn't worry." 

"I don't think it childish to have nightmares, Richard," Paul admonished him gently, not unkindly. "Everyone has them, even me. "

Richard offered him a small grateful smile, but didn't immediately say anything. It seemed as though his silence on the matter would be a permanent thing and that he wasn't ready to talk about it nor offer explanation for it. Paul could hardly blame him, nor had he really expected even a brief explanation; he had, after all, known Richard for less than ten hours. He sighed, and looked towards where the kitchen was situated, adjoining the living area through an archway, before he spoke.

"D'you want a hot chocolate or something?" he asked. " A biscuit or a slice of cake, perhaps? I find that something sweet and chocolate-y always calms a person down after a bad shock." 

"Thanks," Richard said, as he stood, in one fluid motion that looked more graceful than it should have done in a man so broad and bulky. "I'd like that." 

Paul nodded, without judgment, and kept his companionable silence as he led the other man into the kitchen. Richard hovered in the archway, and looked to be quite awkward, and out of place, as though he felt as if he didn't belong. Paul patted the table gently as he passed it, and offered the other man a smile. 

"You can sit," he said. "This place is as much your home as mine and Flake's, albeit temporarily."

"Thanks," Richard said, again, and even though he did allow himself to sit, he still didn't lose his complete aura of awkwardness. 

Despite his vague discomfort, he sat and watched Paul with interest, as Paul moved around the kitchen, running though the familiar motions of making the hot chocolate without even needing to think about it. Every motion was second nature to him by now, and within a few minutes, he had the chocolate and a generous portion of sticky chocolate fudge cake laid in front of Richard.

"Eat," Paul said, when Richard hesitated over the large chunk of cake. "It's all for you. No one's gonna steal it." 

Richard laughed, before he plucked the piece up and bit into it, hungrily. Paul wondered then how long it had been since Richard had last eaten, feeling a stab of guilt for not having offered him anything in the way of a decent meal, the night before. In all the stress of running him down and offering him a place to stay, he hadn't thought of even offering Richard a simple sandwich. 

"This is good," Richard said, eyes partially closed in obvious and genuine enjoyment.

"Thanks; it's home made," Paul said, with genuine pleasure, as he settled across from Richard with his own mug of hot chocolate and slice of cake.

"Yeah? You or your flatmate?" Richard asked, appreciatively.

Paul flushed slightly, before answering.

"Me, actually," he said, even as Richard made another loud sound of almost orgasmic enjoyment over another sticky bite taken.

"Do you always cook this good?" Richard asked, once the mouthful had been swallowed.

"I don't know. I haven't killed anyone yet, if that helps," Paul said, with a laugh. "I haven't had any complaints, either." 

Richard laughed, and dropped his gaze to his mug.

"Heh. Modest. I like a man who's modest," he said, before he flushed slightly. "Sorry. That was a bit forward of me to say that." 

"No; no, I didnt think so," Paul said, soflty.

They exchanged a brief and hesitantly awkward smile then, before Richard changed the subject.

"You're gonna have to give me the recipe for this, you know, Paul," he said, as he gestured towards the remainder of his cake. 

"If I do, I will be forced to kill you. It's a Landers family secret," Paul laughed. "Even Flake doesn't know how I make it, and he's lived with me for years."

"Wow. Heavy shit," Richard said, with a smile. 

"I might make at least one exception to my family's rule, if I find the person in question agreeable," Paul said, with a daring wink at Rchard.

"And what do I have to do to be agreeable?" Richard asked, with a smile.

"We'll see," Paul said, gently. 

"Yeah," Richard replied, before he fell silent.

Paul smiled, and saw that whilst Richard didn't offer to speak agin, he didn't look as awkward nor as uncomfortable as he had before. Instead, his face softened out a little, as though he'd gained a little bit of confidence beneath Paul's easy joking, and had relaxed in accordance with it. They continued eating and drinking in silence, yet that silence was easy and comfortably companionable; Paul felt suddenly as though they had known each other for years, instead of hours. He found himself wishing that perhaps Richard would perhaps stay for more than a few days. He wanted to get to know the man behind the attractive face and body and the strange yet quite pretty eyes; he sensed that the man had a lot of interesting tales to tell and he wanted, more than anything, to hear them. 

Richard shifted in his seat suddenly, and the chair legs scraped a little against the tiled floor. Paul lifted his eyes at the sudden disturbance and saw those jewel-like eyes staring at him, soft and large and oddly curious. It was only then that he realised that Richard was wearing nothing more than his t shirt and his boxers; the lines of his body were more revealed to the light and were as softly rounded and strong as they'd promised to be beneath his earlier layers of clothing. Paul surreptitiously checked and saw that Richard's legs were nice, too, strong and sturdy and oddly hairless. Paul wondered what those legs would feel like against his and how Richard's body would feel laid atop him, or whether his mouth was as soft as it looked.

"Paul?" Richard asked, and it was only then that Paul realised that Richard had apparently spoken to him.

"Hmm?" Paul asked, feeling embarrassment shoot hot and red through his body. "Sorry. I guess I zoned out for a minute there."

He didn't want to admit to the reason behind why he'd zoned out.

"I asked about your t shirt," Richard said, and it looked as though he hadn' t minded the fact that Paul had been out of it for a few moments. "You like the Avengers, then?" 

Paul looked down at his shirt, momentarily forgetting what he'd pulled on before heading to bed. As Richard had correctly pointed out, he was wearing an Avengers shirt, yet while there was, admittedly, the large and distinctive A logo, emblazoned in red upon black across his chest, there was no other signifying context as to what it even was. Richard must have been a fan, or know someone who was, even peripherally, to pick up on the reference.

"Yeah," Paul said, in undisguised surprise. "Yeah, I do, actually." 

"Why d'you sound so suprprised?" Richard asked, with genuine amusement warming his tone and his face. 

"You dont look the type to be into comic books" Paul admitted, after a brief pause in which he warred with himself as to how honest he should be.

He didn't want to cause offence where no offence was meant, after all. 

"Neither do you," Richard pointed out, and it didn't look as though he'd minded Paul's earlier, honest confession. 

"Heh," Paul huffed, but was uncertain as to what to say to that.

That Richard had meant his words as a compliment was obvious by his expression, and Paul only hoped that he'd taken Paul's own words in the same vein; he knew that he'd surely meant them as a compliment. 

"I own a comic book store," Paul said, when the silence stretched out between them and threatened to become a little awkward. "It'd be kinda silly to not be a fan of my own wares." 

"I guess," Richard said, with a soft grin. "It'd be kinda like owning a butcher's when you're a vegetarian." 

Paul laughed at that, before he said - "Exactly. Maybe you should swing by the store, sometime; you might find something you like. You can find us in Alexa. You do know it, don't you?" 

"Of course; I am a Berliner, for all that I effectively left a few years ago! I have a feeling that I will drop in, for definite," Rchard said, as he stared pointedly at Paul. 

Paul wondered if perhaps Richard was planning to visit Paul, instead of the store and he smiled at that, feeling oddly complimented by Richard's words, and suddenly felt as though he'd been transported back to high school, lusting after the hottest boy in class and basking beneath every snatched speck of attention, brief though those specks had always turned out to be. He hoped that Richard wouldn't be like that, and that for all his teasing, things would pregress further, and blossom into something more lasting and beautiful.

"I'll look forward to it," he murmured, and he meant it. "Anyway, let's get cleared up. I need to get to bed, and get some sleep. Work tomorrow, and all that jazz." 

Richard nodded, and watched as Paul stood; he reached out to grab gently at Paul's arm, when he passed, effectively stopping Paul where he stood without even the slightest hint of pressure. Paul stared down at him, surpised at how warm Richard's hand was and how nice, how right, his touch seemed against his skin. Richard did not drop his hand, immediately, thumb seeming to describe unconscious patterns against the bareness of Paul's skin, before he realised what he was doing and dropped his hand, at last. That contact, brief though it had been, had made Paul's breath catch in his throat, and sent heat into his body, cock hardening in direct response to Richard's touch. He was suddenly glad for the fact that his t shirt was long enough and baggy enough to hide the very obvious sign of his arousal, yet still, he hoped that Richard wouldn't be able to smell it on his skin. 

"Thanks, for all you're doing for me," Richard said. "You know you don't have to." 

"I don't, but I do want to," Paul insisted. "I don't even care if you stay here for a year, instead of a few days. You'd still be more than welcome, in my eyes." 

Richard grinned at that, and clapped Paul sharply on the arm.

"Thank you," he said again, even as his fingers lingered against Paul's skin again, as though afraid to relinquish contact once it had been established.

Paul shuddered pleasurably again beneath the other man's touch, and leant into it slightly. He moved away, when the moment threatened to shift into awkwardness, and he busied himself by clearing away the dirty mugs and plates; Richard stood and helped him without being prompted and continued, even when Paul gently insisted that he didn't have to. Richard was just as insistent that he wanted to help, and Paul subsided, glad for the fact that the other man was there by his side, close and real and warm, hands and fingers brushing up against Paul's at seemingly every opportunity imaginable. Paul lifted his gaze every now and again, eyes meeting those of Richard's and he smiled every time, wanting a kiss, wanting anything except this sudden torture, yet he knew that it was too soon for anything of note to happen between them. Richard seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, and he seemed content to do nothing more than tease Paul with smiles, and warm glances, and the occasional stroke that seemed a polite way of groping Paul, slightly emboldened by the fact that never once did Paul shrug him off or complain. 

Once the now clean plates and mugs were placed back in their respective kitchen cupboards, Paul left Richard in the living room again, and hastily retreated into his bedroom, without ever saying goodnight to Flake; he wasn't even sure whether Flake was even still awake or not. Paul slid beneath his bed-covers, yet he took a while to find sleep, mind still too consumed with thoughts of Richard, and of those oddly luminescent eyes that were quite unlike anything Paul had ever seen before; he felt his cock stirring to life again, yet he ignored his burgeoning erection for the time being, mind too consumed with fantasies of spending time with Richard, of laying with him in bed, of the other man making love to him, and pressing kisses against his willing lips. 

Paul groaned softly, and slipped his hand into his boxers, fingertips brushing against his painfully hard and previously ignored erection. He began to stroke at himself, mind still resting purposefully upon Richard, his mouth, his body, the way it would feel againast his, and the way Richard's mouth would feel around his cock. Paul groaned, hand working faster at himself as he imagined Richard upon his knees before him, his lips and his tongue working across Paul's flesh and he stroked harder still, feeling his orgasm pooling in his abdomen and he came, climax pushing his hips up and away from the mattress with the sheer, intense pleasurable force of it. He tried to stifle a groan behind his hand, and he wasn't too sure whether hed been successful or not, yet when he listened, Paul found that Flake's snores met those of Richard's, soft and gentle and undisturbed. He was safe and apparently undiscovered, yet still Paul felt hot shame flush through his body. He wiped himself clumsily with some tissues, before throwing the dirtied mass of paper into the bin beside his bed. He fell asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow, a few moments later.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, Paulchen, did you kiss him, then, last night?" Flake asked, looking over the rims of his glasses as Paul tucked a new consignment of comic books upon their corresponding racks.

It was the following morning, and both men were at Comic World, having left Richard back at their flat after breakfast. Breakfast itself had been vaguely rushed, yet still pleasant, and Flake had hidden plenty of smiles regarding the surreptitious glances that Richard and Paul stole of each other, often when the other man wasn't looking. 

"What?" Paul asked, in sudden surprise, as he looked up and over at his friend.

"Richard," Flake repeated, a little impatiently, despite his continued, vaguely amused, smile. "Did you kiss him, last night?"

"Now why in all that is holy would I have done that?" Paul asked, turning partially away to hide his embarrassment. "We've only just met." 

"Come off it, Paul," Flake said. "The way that you two were acting with each other, both last night and this morning, it was obvious to me that you were both practically gagging to get into each other's pants. I would have thought that something would have happened between you two. Why d'you think I left you to deal with lover-boy after he woke us both up, last night?"

"He's not lover-boy," Paul mumbled, with growing embarrassment. 

"But you want him to be, I'll bet," Flake pointed out, undeterred. 

"Yes, if it makes you happy, I do want to get to know him better," Paul replied, gruffly, with a snort. "Now, are you gonna leave it?"

"Not quite. It's about bloody time you showed interest in someone, Paulchen," Flake said, with affectionate relief. 

"Yeah, I guess," Paul said, uncertain as to how he was even supposed to respond.

"Go for him," Flake said. "Don't let him go. In fact, by the by, he seems to be coming in to the store." 

"What?" Paul asked, in sudden alarm, even as the door dinged open to reveal the bulky form of Richard shuffling in. "Hey, Richard." 

"Hi," Richard said, as he grinned brightly at Paul.

He seemed almost not to have noticed Flake behind the counter, until the man pointedly coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand as he did so.

"Oh, hallo, Flake, I didn't see you there," Richard amended, with some embarrassment.

"I am kind of hard to see," Flake said, his sardonic grin growing.

Richard turned to Paul again, with a baffled expression upon his face and therefore missed the mimed blow-job gesture that Flake threw at Paul. Paul spluttered into a sudden surprised laugh, and turned the sudden noise into a cough, when Richard looked askance at him. 

"Sorry; dry throat," Paul told him hurriedly. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, of course; you asked me to drop by the store, and so, here I am," Richard said, as he gestured to the racks of comic books surrounding them. "D'you have any recommendations?"

Flake coughed and for one moment, Paul thought he heard the word - **_bed_** \- in amongst Flake's sudden bronchial explosions. Paul ignored his friend's lewd comment, yet he could tell that Richard had heard also and was pointedly ignoring Flake, too. 

"Um, I don't know; I don't really know what you like," Paul said, as he placed his armful of comics down to gesture round at the store. "I mean, do you like, Marvel or DC? Or are you a 2000 AD man? Which characters do you like? Any favourite writers or artists?" 

"I don't know, actually," Richard admitted, with an embarrassed laugh. "I've always had a preference for the Marvel films, though, if that's anything to go by."

"It is a start," Paul said, with a relieved, and inspired, smile. "You're a Marvel man, then. Man after my own heart." 

Flake coughed explosively again and Paul turned to him, with a scandalised expression upon his face.

"Get yourself some fucking water, for Gods sake, Flake," he half-yelled, sharply.

Flake disappeared into the staff room with a grin and a barely choked back laugh, and Paul turned back to Richard with some embarrassment. He was glad to see that Richard was grinning, laughter lines fanning out from the corners of his unusual eyes. 

"I have to apologise for Flake, Richard. Sometimes, he can be a jerk," Paul said.

"I don't know; I rather like him," Richard said, and he looked as though he meant what he said. "He seems quite amusing, in a sarcastic way. I like that, actually." 

"So do I. Most of the time," Paul muttered, pleased, despite his own embarrassment, that Richard liked his closest friend. "Anyway, perhaps you should start with some Avengers, seeing as I already know you kind of like them. Do you just want one issue, or a couple?"

"However many you think," Richard offered. "I'm in need of something to read, so perhaps half a dozen? Just to get me started." 

"Okay; if you're sure," Paul said, in surprise. "You know, I have loads of books back at the flat; you're more than welcome to dip into any of those, if you're in need of something to read. I'm a bit of a book addict; I'm sure there must be something that tickles your pickle." 

"Thanks," Richard replied, in surprise. "That's very generous of you."

"No problem," Paul said, feeling his cheeks flush a little beneath Richard's obvious pleasure. 

Richard nodded agreeably and followed Paul further into Comic World, standing too close as Paul picked a few choice issues from the racks. Paul reached up and felt Richard's steadying hand upon his hip when it seemed as though he would overreach and topple forward; Paul closed his eyes at the warmth that that minimal touch created within him, and when he plucked the desired comic from the shelf, and rocked back onto his heels, Richard's hand remained where it was, propped almost propriatorially against Paul's hip. Paul coughed, and nodded down at his small stack of comics, noting the fact that Richard looked pleased that he hadn't offered complaint or shaken his hand free. 

"That should get you started," Paul said, softly, but he still didn't step away.

Instead, he left it to Richard to make the first move, fingers trailing across Paul's hip tantalisingly, before Richard's warmth dropped away from him; Paul smiled, despite the fact that he wanted more, wanted Richard's hand upon him again; he sighed and gestured for Richard to follow him back to the counter again. Richard nodded and followed obediantly in Paul's footsteps.

"I don't feel comfortable asking you for money, for these," Paul confessed, as he tapped his fingers against the small stack of comic books in front of him. "How about you just have them on the house?"

"No, Paul; thank you for the kind offer, but I don't think so. I can't expect you do that. You've already done enough for me, after all," Richard pointed out, awkwardly,, even as he pulled his wallet from his pocket. "How much do I owe you, seriously?" 

Paul sighed and tallied up the amount upon the till; he told Richard the amount and accepted the money that the other man extended his way. 

"I was meaning to also ask you to lunch, if you're interested," Richard said, after he'd taken the correct change from Paul, with a hopeful smile. 

"Oh? Sure, I'd like that," Paul replied, hoping that he hadn't accepted the offer too quickly. "I am due for a lunch break soon, actually."

"Oh? Good. When?" Richard asked, looking pleased, as he accepted the crinkling paper bag filled with his freshly purchased goodies from Paul's hand, fingers rubbing gently alongside Paul's as he did so.

Paul couldn't think for one long, shuddering moment, too distracted by that obvious craving contact, and he swallowed, forcibly gathered his thoughts and smiled.

"Five minutes sound reasonable?" he asked.

"Okay; sounds good to me," Richard said, with a nod of agreement. "Mind if I wait here for you?" 

"I don't mind," Paul replied, even as he partially turned away. "Let me just leave Flake a few instructions as to what to do in my absence, and then I'll be right with you."

Richard nodded agreably, even as Paul walked away, gaze falling upon the form of Flake lurking just inside the staff room, watching them and grinning maniacally at them both.

"Don't you bloody dare let him go," Flake hissed, as soon as Paul joined him in the staff room. "The fucker actually asked you on a date, would you believe that?"

"It's only lunch, Flake. I doubt he meant it as a date," Paul objected, with a small, muted laugh.

"People only ask other people out for lunch if they're interested in them, Paul. Don't be so bloody dense," Flake said. "The guy wants you. I told you that. It's so obvious that he does."

"I hope you're right," Paul said, with a scowl.

"I am. Now, go get your man, you lucky fucker, you," Flake said, as he all but pushed Paul from out of the staff room.


	6. Chapter 6

Paul wandered back to where Richard still stood, idly thumbing through one of his purchases, with apparent glee. Paul smiled at the unguarded expression upon the other man's face, and it was only then that he realised just how tense Richard looked ordinarily. He didn't have time to ponder upon that, for Richard looked up and the slight stain of embarrassment coloured his face then; he slipped his comic back into the crinkling paper bag, with its brightly coloured brethren, again. 

"Are you ready?" he asked, before Paul could say anything.

"I am. You can enjoy your comic at home," Paul said, realising only afterwards that he'd used the term - 'home' - to include Richard as well.

Richard looked suprised at that, yet didn't comment upon it, and neither did Paul; instead, he smiled and led the other man from the shop. Richard seemed to have a hankering for pretzels more than anything else, which surprised Paul, for he'd expected to perhaps get a sandwich, or a pizza from somewhere. He didn't complain, however, nor pass comment; instead, he led the way to the Little Bear Soft Pretzel Company, a store that sold the best pretzels in Berlin, in Paul's humble opinion. They ordered a couple of pretzels apiece, sour cream and chive to satisfy their savoury needs, and a sweet sugar and cinnamon one apiece for afterwards. Richard seemed to particularly enjoy the pretzels, mouth wrapped around the large bready treats with almost orgasmic noises leaking past his lips as he chewed.

"You know, it's been too long since I've had these," Richard said, as he washed a cream and chive covered mouthful down with a hefty, appreciative swig of coffee. "I made myself a promise that as soon as I returned to Berlin, I'd eat some genuine Berliner pretzels, beause I missed them, so much." 

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but where have you been? It's been a couple of times that you've mentioned returning to Berlin, now," Paul asked, before he grimaced at himself. "I mean, you don't have to answer that if it's, perhaps, too personal or something." 

"It's not personal; well, not really," Richard replied, but he seemed unable to meet Paul's gaze, then. "I was in America; New York actually. I lived there for a while; a few years, y'know? It wasn't the best time for me." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Paul said, feeling a little awkward for even asking, as though he'd perhaps inadvertantly ripped the scab off an old wound. 

"It's not a tale for such a pretty place," Richard said, unprompted, as he gestured around the homely bakery surrounding them. "I will probably tell you what happened one day, but today isn't it. All I can say right now is that I had my reasons for wanting to come back to Berlin; it's where I was born, after all. It's all I know, really."

"You don't even have to tell me anything you don't want to," Paul told him, softly, not unkindly. "You don't even really know me, after all." 

"I know; but still, if I'm gonna tell anyone, I have a feeling that it might be you," Richard said. 

He looked to Paul then and Paul saw uncertainty in the other man's gaze, lending him a soft, wounded look. Paul sighed; despite the fact that he felt uncomfortable and awkward, uncertain as to what even was going on, he nodded and smiled as supportively as he could.

"I might be a lot of things, but I am a good listener, or so I've been told," Paul told Richard. "Just so you know." 

Richard nodded, and a look of great relief crossed his face at Paul's words. 

"Thanks," he said, simply, before he took another sip of his coffee.

Paul watched as the other man took another bite of his pretzel, and chewed it slowly; Richard smiled as soon as he became aware of Paul's scrutiny and spoke again, breaking the silence between them with a distinct change of subject. 

"Anyway, I was hoping to look for a job today," he said, and there was a slight return to his apparently usual warmth again. 

"Yeah?" Paul asked, following the change of subject willingly. "Any ideas on where you want to work? What sector, I mean."

"Not really," Richard shrugged. "Anything that's going, for now. Maybe something to do with food, seeing as I can cook, or perhaps it'd be good to work with guitars or music, somehow." 

"Sounds good," Paul said, as he frowned, thoughtfully. "I would offer you a job at the comic shop, but we barely get enough trade to support us. I mean, Flake and myself, obviously." 

Richard nodded, and there was a vague hint of disappointment at that, as though he might have fancied his prospects in the comic trade. Paul felt guilty then, as though he'd purposefully slighted him, by depriving him the chance of a job, despite the fact that he'd told Richard the truth. Whilst neither Flake nor himself were as desitute as they'd once been, back in the old days when Berlin had been divided, they still weren't anywhere near the levels of comfort they had aimed for, when they'd first opened Comic World. They had enough to live, reasonably enough, which was all Paul could ever ask for on a good day. As long as he was well fed, and had money for books and to fuel his photography hobby, then he supposed he was a happy man.

"I have a friend who owns a luthier's though," Paul said, suddenly. "Well, he's actually more Flake's boyfriend than a close friend of mine; I've just gotten to know him though Flake. He's a pretty cool guy, though; quite quiet, seems to think a lot. I think you'd like him; most people do, once he opens up a little. Tell me if I babble too much, by the way." 

Richard laughed at that, and it was that dirty laugh that Paul had noticed before, that sent deep laughter lines fanning out from the corners of his incredible eyes.

"I like your babble," Richard said, laughter warming his voice. "It's funny." 

Paul made a pleased sound of surprise at that; he hadn't expected to be called funny, at all, yet he liked it, and treated it as the compliment Richard had obviously intended it as. 

"Thanks," Paul said, quietly, "Anyway, Till, Flake's boyfriend, owns the luthier's, like I said, and I know he's looking for someone to work for him. I'll take you there, after lunch, if you like." 

"Would you? That is incredibly kind of you," Richard said, and he looked a little taken aback by that, as though he still thought as though he didn't deserve such attention. 

Paul wondered at that, yet he knew he was only trying to help; he always wanted to help people when they truly needed it, plus he genuinely liked Richard, and still felt guilty for running him down the night before. 

"I don't mind; I like helping. It is actually on the way back to Comic World, which is totally not why I even mentioned it, by the way," Paul said, with a worried frown. 

Richard merely huffed out a laugh at Paul's words, yet didn't seem to mind, nor did it seem as though he'd even suspected that. Paul relaxed a little, yet still was glad when conversation moved onto other matters, such as music, and movies; it seemed as though they had similar tastes in both and Paul found himself becoming ever more attracted to the other man. Occasionally Richard would talk about something he'd thought of, a band he'd once been in perhaps, and his already luminous eyes would light up still further; he often reached out, touched the pads of his fingertips against the back of Paul's hand to punctuate a point, and Paul wondered if that was just his way or whether Richard just liked touching him. He was rather hoping for the latter and he didn't move away, merely relished each vague caress when it came. 

In time, the lunch ended, and Paul stood with some reluctance; Richard was even slower in joining him, and so, they left, each movement languid and companionably relaxed. Paul led Richard to Lindemann's Luthiers, a few doors down from Paul's comic shop. On the window of the door, was taped an advertisement, asking for applicants to come into the store and pick up an application form from the owner. 

"You'd best go in yourself," Paul told him, with a snort. "It'd look a little silly, I guess, if I asked on your behalf. I know that I know Till, but still."

He shrugged, into Richard's sudden grin.

"Don't worry; I think I'll manage," Richard replied, dryly. 

"Super. Well, tell Till hallo from me. Tell him I sent you, as well," Paul said, as an afterthought.

Even though he did not mention the fact aloud, he thought that it might help Richard in getting the job, if Till knew that Paul was involved. 

"I will," Richard said, as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked to the shop door. "I suppose I'd best get this over and done with, then, before I lose my nerve completely." 

"You'll be fine. Till might look big and scary, but in reality, he's a big teddy bear, or so Flake tells me," Paul said, with a roll of his eyes. "Repeatedly." 

Richard huffed and stared at Paul for a few moments. Paul almost thought that Richard would lean in and actually kiss him; he held his breath slightly, hoping for that kiss, yet it never came. Instead, Richard reached out to clap Paul upon the shoulder and Paul couldn't stop the sick feeling of disappointment fom settling in his gut.

"Thanks, Paul, for everything," Richard said, but there seemed to be more that he wasn't saying.

He didn't seem to want to expand on whatever mysterious thoughts that still resided in his head; Paul still nodded and smiled anyway, before he said -"No problem. Good luck in there."

"Thanks," Richard said, before he laid his hand upon the door handle.

Paul waited just long enough for Richard to push the door open with a jangle of bells, before he moved on, stride taking him inexorably towards the comic shop once more. He glanced once on his way past through the window of the Luthier's, and saw that Richard was winding his way through the display racks filled with guitars, heading for the counter at the back of the store. Paul caught the other man's gaze, suddenly, when Richard glanced over his shoulder towards the window, eyes even more oddly luminescent in the dim lighting and Paul was struck once again by the other man's unusual eyes. He smiled, still, however and received a smile and a wave in return, before he walked on, with the memory of softly glistening eyes trapped within his thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

****

"So, how was your date?" Flake asked, as soon as Paul walked back into Comic World, again. "You were gone a bloody long time, just so you know." 

"I was only five minutes late," Paul objected, knowing full well that he was, in actuality, almost fifteen minutes late. 

"Yeah, and the rest," Flake huffed. "So, spill, Paul. Did you kiss him?" 

"What is it with you and kissing, all of a sudden, Flake? I thought you weren't into all that shit?" Paul asked, amused despite himself.

"No, I might not be, but you definitely are," Flake said. "Or at least, I thought I remembered you were. Once upon a time."

"Shut the fuck up," Paul said, only half joking. "I know it's been a while, but you don't have to rub it in." 

"Whatever, Paulchen; kiss, or no kiss?" Flake asked, relentlessly, even as the beginnings of a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"No kiss," Paul finally admitted, with a disgruntled sigh. "But then again, I only met the guy last night, don't forget. Give us a chance, would you? Bit too soon for kisses and all the rest, isn't it?" 

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" Flake asked, with a disgruntled sigh. 

"Like what? No sense in rushing things," Paul pointed out. "I want this to be nice, not rushed." 

"Fine, fair enough," Flake conceded, with a defeated nod and a gusty sigh. "So are you gonna see him again?"

"Quite likely. He's sleeping on the sofa bed," Paul reminded him, with a laugh. 

Flake merely glared at him, lips pinched tightly against his own disgust. Paul laughed, again, and lifted his hands, palms outwards, at the other man as he did so.

"I knew what you meant, before you start. And if Richard asks, yes, I do want to see him again," he said, a soft smile spreading across his face with the admission. 

"Good," Flake replied, with a satisfied smile. "I think you did the right thing in running the guy over, you know, Paul. I know it sounds harsh, but I reckon that you've now got yourself a partner for life. Just you wait and see."

Paul almost swallowed on his own spit in surprise at Flake's seemingly off-the-cuff remark; Flake didn't appear to realise that he'd said anything wrong, if Paul could read the other man's too-calm expression correctly. 

"Well, let's not rush things, huh?" Paul asked. "I don't really know that much about the guy." 

"But?" Flake asked. "I sense there's a but." 

"But from what I know already, I can confirm that we're more than a little compatible," Paul sighed, as a slow, yet still blissfully happy, smile started to spread its way across his face. 

"I think you might be a little in love there, Paulchen," Flake pointed out, as he peered over the rims of his glasses shrewdly. 

"Do you, now? And so what if I am?" Paul asked, defiantly. "Love at first sight does happen to some of us, you know." 

"Like you have so much experience," Flake snorted.

"Okay, I'll give you that one, but it's all the better for Richard, I suppose," Paul pointed out. "At least I can be relied upon to not mess around or anything. "

"I suppose," Flake said. "Anyway, you've gotta get back to putting those orders out. I have to go and have my own lunch. Unlike some love-struck knob-heads around here, I haven't actually eaten yet." 

"Why couldn't you have put the orders out?" Paul asked, in surprise, as he frowned at the other man. 

"I was busy serving, wasn't I? I was bloody mobbed in your absence," Flake said, as he came out from behind the counter.

"Well, that is good news," Paul said and received a glare from Flake again. "That we did good business, not that you actually had to work, for once. I've got my eye on you, Flake." 

He was still laughing long after Flake had left the store, trailing curses in his wake and throwing plenty of dissatisfied middle fingers in Paul's direction.

****

That afternoon, Paul's friend Olli came into the store, shy grin softening the features of his face as his gaze skittered from first Paul, to Flake, and then back again. 

"Hi," Olli said, grin broadening in response to Paul's typically wide and happy grin. 

"Hi, yourself," Paul returned. "Long time, no see."

"You saw me last week," Olli said, with a rough snort. "Unless you really missed me a lot, which I find hard to believe." 

"You're too hard on yourself," Paul said, with a snort of his own. "It's always nice to see you, you know that."

Flake nodded out his agreement, mouth too filled still with biscuits to form a verbal response. Olli took one of the proffered biscuits when Flake held the package out to him, and began to nibble. Olli had only taken a few bites, before he asked a question of Paul.

"By the way, how did the date go, the other night, Paulchen?" he asked. "I haven't seen Johannes yet to ask him." 

"Fucking terrible," Paul groaned, with a grimace. 

"Oh God, really? Now, I really thought that you'd like each other," Olli said, obvious disappointment in his face. "What happened?"

"The guy was a prick," Flake muttered, and earned hismelf a surprised, yet grateful, grin from Paul. "What? He was." 

"What Flake said. Sorry, Olli. I know he's your friend, but yeah, he was a bit of a prick," Paul said, still grinning over Flake's sudden outburst. 

"Well, I don't know him that well, to actually go as far as calling him a friend," Olli admitted, with a slight, embarrassed quirk of his lips at Paul. "He's just a regular at the club I go to and we got chatting. I told him that I had a friend who was single, when he indicated he wanted to meet someone, for a date or perhaps more. You know the rest." 

"Yeah. Wish I hadn't bothered," Paul muttered, darkly. "He thought punk music was a row, and comic books for children. He also thought that books in general were boring and a waste of time, vampire films were for the brain-dead, and do I really need to go on with all this shit?"

"Ouch," Olli winced. "No wonder you didn't like him. I am sorry. Seriously, I had no idea the guy was such a snob. I should vet these people more vigourously, obviously."

Whilst the last was said with an obvious grin, there was seriousness behind Olli's eyes, punctated by the slight frown that built furrows between his brows.

"You don't need to," Flake said, abruptly. "Paul's found himself a new prospective boyfriend. He ran him over with his car, can you believe." 

"What the - ? You never did," Olli said, with a sudden laugh, as he reached for a second biscuit from Flake's package. 

"Unfortunately, that's true. I wasn't paying attention, and kinda knocked him over with my car," Paul said, ruefully. "Luckily, he didn't even have a bruise or anything. He was just unconscious for a bit. He's staying at our flat."

"Already?" Olli asked, in surprise. "Did you knock the sense out of him, or something?"

"I hope not. He seems quite cognizant. He didn't have anywhere else. He'd only just arrived in Berlin," Paul explained, even as he laughed at Olli's comment.

"And then you came along, with your car of doom," Flake submitted, with a sly smile. "Ready to knock him off his feet and into your arms." 

"I wish," Paul snorted, with an embarrased smile.

"So he is nice, then," Olli prevaricated, with a lift of his eyebrows, silently asking for more information.

"Nice doesn't cover it," Paul said, with a gentle smile. "He's handsome, yes, but he's very nice to talk to, as well. Very funny too. I like him. He's got really beautiful eyes." 

"And you've gone bloody soppy over him, to boot. Disgusting," Flake said, as he sipped his coffee. 

"Shut up. It's nice," Olli said, as he flicked biscuit crumbs in Flake's direction. "You've got Till, so why can't Paul find someone nice? What's his name, anyway?"

"Richard," Paul said, grinning.

"See? Disgusting," Flake said, as he pointed at Paul's grin. 

"Richard; good strong name," Olli repeated, ignoring Flake temporarily. "Perhaps you'll introduce us, one day. Have you been on a date, yet?" 

"Actually, they went for lunch, today," Flake chipped in before Paul could, with a snort.

Olli nodded his approval.

"Sweet," he said. "Well, I hope things work out for you two, Paulchen."

"Thanks, so do I," Paul said, with a nod of his own. "Anyway, Olli, is there anything else I can do for you or are we just gonna talk about my love life all afternoon?" 

"Yeah, actually, I was looking for a British import. The latest issue of 2000 AD, if you have it," Olli said, with an eager look in his eye. 

"I don't think we have that in yet, Olli," Paul replied, as he came out from behind the counter, plucking his cup of coffee from the counter as he did so. "I will have a look for you, however, just to make sure." 

"Thanks," Olli said, as he followed Paul further into the store.

Paul went to the imports section, but found no copies of the requested item for the other man. 

"Sorry about that, Olli. I'll put in a special order for you, now," he said, as he led Olli back to the counter again. "It'll probably be here in a week's time, if you wanna come back then." 

"Sure, why not?" Olli asked, with an easy shrug and a grin. 

Paul nodded, and logged the order upon the computer, before he smiled at Olli.

"I'll order that by the end of the day; I probably will have a bunch of orders to go through, by then. Like I say, check back next week and we should hopefully have something for you," he said.

"Good. Well, I'll see you, then," Olli nodded, as he turned to leave. "Good luck with your new fella, Paulchen." 

"Thanks," Paul said, again, deigning to mention that things still had to be made official between himself and Richard, yet.

They had, after all, only spent one lunchtime together, and done little more than playfully flirt. Paul wasn't even sure whether Richard was naturally flirtatious, or if he even was interested in him at all. Paul knew, however, that all he had to do was wait and cross each bridge as he came to it.


	8. Chapter 8

*****

Paul didn't see Richard again, until later that evening, when the other man was hunched over the living room table, neatly filling in an application form for Lindemann's Luthier's. Beside him, sat another two forms, already neatly filled in; it was obvious that he'd been writing for quite a while, judging by the way that he kept flexing his hand, fingers still clutching awkwardly at his pen. 

"All right?" Paul asked, upon entering, as he grinned at Richard. "How did it go?"

Richard returned the grin, nodded and stood, after first setting his pen aside with a relieved sigh. Paul watched, as the other man stretched, the soft lines of his body flexing and contracting with every movement; he only realised he was staring when Flake passed him and dug his fingers into Paul's ribs in a pinching motion. He looked away, awkwardly, yet not before Richard himself caught Paul staring and grinned at him. 

"I'm glad you're back; I was getting bored of writing," Richard said, by way of greeting, as he gestured towards the stack of forms. "And in answer to your question, I think it went okay; at least, it seemed to in the luthier's place. Till seemed nice, by the way. It's hard to tell whether he liked me enough though, at least until I get an interview." 

Flake snorted rudely, even as Paul grinned at Richard.

"Told ya Till was nice and I'm sure all will go well at the interview, when you get there," he said, and it was his turn to dig Flake roughly in the ribs. 

"He said hi, by the way," Richard said, before his eyes flickered towards Flake with a suden grin. "And he said to tell you, Flake, that he loved you and wants to see you tomorrow night." 

"Did he, now?" Flake asked, flatly, yet not before a sudden pleased grin passed across his face at the compliment, albeit given by a relative stranger. "Well, I'll call him later." 

He shrugged and moved away, conversation apparently over for the time being. Paul sighed and rolled his eyes at Richard, who laughed. 

"Don't take no notice of him; he's just naturally grumpy. I'd best get changed and showered, then I'll get the dinner going. Join us?" Paul asked, hopefully.

"Please," Richard nodded, quietly. "I could help, you know. I know my way around the kitchen."

"Yeah, you said at lunch. I would appreciate a bit of help, actually; thanks, Richard," Paul said, accepting the offer graciously. "Flake's a lazy git. He usually leaves it all to me, even the washing up. And then he has the cheek to complain, because the food wasn't exactly to his liking." 

"Good job I'm here, then. I'm not scared of that sort of thing, and by that, I meant washing up and all that domestic stuff," Richard said, with a rough chuckle. "I've had years of practice, living on my own." 

Paul nodded, uncertain as to what else to say to the other man, and so, he made polite excuses again to leave, to take his shower. Richard was back upon the sofa again when Paul returned, Flake a glowering presence by the telephone. Flake seemed to be in direct conversation with Till, explaining, apparently not for the first time judging by the tone of his voice, that he couldn't go on a date the following night, but would be free at the weekend. Richard seemed to be trying studiously not to listen, scribbling the last few responses upon the application forms before him. Richard seemed glad when he saw Paul loitering in the doorway, and stood, to follow him into the kitchen.

"Awkward," Richard said, as he gestured over his shoulder towards Flake on the phone.

"He doesn't mean anything. Like I said, he's just naturally grumpy; I think he dropped out of his mother grumpy," Paul said, with a long suffering smile. "You'll get used to him, in time." 

"I'm not even sure I'll be around long enough to do so," Richard said, slowly, a guilty expression stamped clear upon his face at the admission.

"Oh?" Paul asked, unable to hide the sudden stab of hurt from flowing through his body.

"I can't impose on your good graces here for long. It's not fair on you, or on Flake," Richard explained. "I've gotta find a place of my own, I guess." 

Paul couldn't help but note the reluctance that showed upon Richard's face, despite his own disappointment.

"No rush," Paul told him. "I told you, stay as long as you want or need to. I'm not desperate to get my sofa bed back in a hurry. And you're not imposing; I told you that as well. It's nice to have someone else around." 

"Thank you," Richard said, and he sounded genuinely touched by Paul's generosity. "I need to pay you back, though. For your kindness." 

"Well, you can help me cook. We can start from there," Paul said, with a sudden grin. 

Richard nodded and began moving about the kitchen, soon finding his way around the minimal cupboards filled with even less implements with surprising ease. He helped with the food preperation and it turned out that Richard was as good as his word; Paul was impressed at how good the other man was at cooking, soon throwing together something that was better than he himself could ever hope to achieve in a month of Sundays.

"You carry on like that and I won't ever let you leave," Paul commented, only half joking.

"Promises, promises," Richard said, joking. 

Paul laughed and they began to clear up the dirty dishes whilst they waited for the food to cook. The motions seemed effortless and instinctual, as though they'd been doing each one for longer than merely a night; Richard's hand continously brushed against Paul's own, and often pressed against Paul's back whenever he passed a little too closely. Paul smiled every time, not wishing to step away from the contact. 

Flake studiously kept away from the kitchen whilst they were in there, undoubtedly hoping to give them the space he must have thought they needed. Paul didn't mind, and Richard semeed not to even notice; both men continued to chat , soft words exchanged and even softer laughs exchanged as easily as their jokes. The conversation seemed natural and easy and Paul felt as though he was more at ease with Richard now, yet still he felt as though there was something restrained about the other man, as though he knew something or was keeping something back from Paul. Paul wasn't offended; instead, he was intrigued, and it made Richard more interesting. Dinner, when it was served, tasted as good as it had smelled whilst cooking, and even Flake wolfed down his plateful with great gusto. 

"You're a better cook than Paul," he said, to Richard when the meal was over. "Please say you're staying." 

Richard laughed, and shot Paul a quick glance. 

"I don't know. We'll see," was all he seemed to want to say on the matter. 

Paul only smiled, but didn't know what to say. Richard was as good as his word; he helped Paul to clear up after the dinner was consumed, bright chatter filling the air as they washed the plates and cutlery between them. Flake stayed for a while, sitting at the table sipping the last of his coffee, before he slipped away on quiet feet, smiling slightly to himself as he left the two to themselves. Paul and Richard barely noticed, too consumed in one another to do so; Paul enjoyed the unexpected intimacy of the moment, heads bent towards each other, Richard's hands dawdling against his every time their fingers brushed together.

****

That night, Paul once again slipped beneath his covers, as hard as he was the night before; once again, his hand slipped beneath the sheets to wrap around his erect length and to slowly pleasure himself, mind resting firmly upon Richard. When he came, his orgasm was just as intense as the night before, and he rested, a sated smile curving his mouth gently. 

That night was a repeat of the night before in another aspect. Richard, once again, had nightmares; Flake refused to even open his door, let alone peek out of his bedroom as he had on the previous night, and Paul took that as his cue to see to the moaning Richard. His feet were as his tired as his mind and his eyes, yet still he plodded towards the living area. That time, however, he caught words, choked out in a voice that was undeniably Richard's, yet sounded so unlike his normal tone, that it was quite startling to Paul. He heard a brief exhalation in the negative, repeated again a little louder that time, before he heard a stringed together sentence, broken in tone if not in structure.

"Please don't hurt me anymore," Paul heard Richard moan. "It's enough. I've endured enough. Just do whatever else you want to me, just don't hurt me anymore." 

Paul's heart broke at that; it seemed more like a living memory, rather than a nightmare, as though Richard were reliving something he'd endured at the hands of another. Paul mashed one fist against his mouth, desperate not to cry out beneath the sudden shared agony of it; he could feel it in the air, tangible and achingly sad, and he almost broke, himself, beneath the weight of it. Richard cried out again, and he sounded in genuine pain. Paul decided that he couldn't take anymore and he spurted forward, to kneel beside Richard, hands reaching out to shake at the other man's shoulder. His hand closed tighter against the too warm flesh, which seemed even hotter than it should have been, though not through fever; there was no sweat, and Paul couldn't help but wonder at that. It wasn't the first time that he'd noticed that Richard ran at a hotter temperature than was humanly possible, after all.

"Richard," Paul said, as he shook the other man's shoulder again, harder, rougher that time.

Richard jerked awake with a great cry, hand swinging round in a fist that almost connected in a crunching punch against Paul's nose; Paul just had the wherewithal to duck before the punch connected. Richard's hand still passed across the top of his head, all the same, ruffling his already sleep mussed hair still further, and then he was looking up into Richard's too-shiny eyes, and the beginnings of a cursed apology.

"Paul, I'm sorry; I didn't know it was you," Richard said, as he struggled into a sitting position. 

"So I gathered," Paul said, with a shaky semblance of a grin at him. "You didn't connect, thankfully." 

"That's good," Richard said, before further words were interrupted by a wide yawn. "What's the matter, anyway? Why did you wake me? I wasn't having nightmares again, was I?"

Paul stared at him uncertainly; he wondered if perhaps Richard was playing dumb deliberately, embarrassed by his nightmares, or perhaps he genuinely didn't know, couldn't remember. 

"Yeah, you were," Paul told him, softly. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but does this happen often?" 

"Yeah, fairly often," Richard said, roughly. "I thought I'd gotten over it, but apparently, I haven't. I'm sorry that I woke you." 

"It's okay," Paul said and he meant it. "We all have nightmares, even me." 

Richard remained silent, head still resting in his hands so that his eyes were covered, face turned partially away from Paul. Paul waited for a while, yet it seemed as though Richard wasn't going to talk, at least under his own duress.

"Want to talk?" Paul asked, gently. "I'm not pressuring you into anything you don't want to do, just so you know." 

"Thanks for your offer; I will take you up on it," Richard said, quietly. "But not yet. Too soon. Give me time, Paulchen."

Paul smiled suddenly, even though he knew that Richard couldn't see him and he was glad of it; he didn't think it appropriate to be caught with a smile on his face when Richard was obviously in pain and hurting. The smile had been induced by the fact that Richard had inadvertently used the diminutive of his name, probably without even realising he was doing it; undoubtedly he'd heard Flake using it and the name had lodged itself in his brain, or his subconscious. He didn't mind Richard using the nickname; instead, he thought it sounded nice, and somehow strangely more loving than it would ever do on Flake's. 

"Come on, let me make you some hot chocolate," Paul said, softly. "We can have a piece of that chocolate cake again, if you want it." 

"Yeah," Richard said, roughly and finally he looked up at Paul again. "I want it. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Paul said, before he retreated quietly, and politely, from Richard's side, leaving the other man to join him at his own discretion.

Richard took but a few minutes to join him, yet he sat at the kitchen table in near silence. Paul didn't mind that silence; he knew better than to force the other man into late night confessions that he probably would regret in the morning. He placed the requested sticky cake and hot chocolate in front of Richard once they were ready and smiled. He rested one hand upon Richard's still too warm shoulder briefly, before he retreated to the counter again to get his own late night snack. When he turned around once more, Richard was staring at him with such yearning that it almost broke Paul's heart; still, he said nothing, merely sat at the table next to Richard, knee resting firmly against the other man's. Richard didn't move away; instead, he seemed to settle a little closer, even though he stilll did not speak. They ate and drank in silence, but it didn't feel awkward, merely companionable and relaxed, and the cake and chocolate were consumed before Paul even knew it. 

He stood, and cleared the plates away, washed them in the sink yet that time, Richard didn't help him. Paul didn't take offence, merely used the exercise as an excuse to keep his hands busy, if nothing else. It was as he was turning to place the last mug away in the sink that he felt the light pressure of Richard's hand upon his hip. He closed the door and turned slightly to look up at the other man,a slight smile touching the corners of his lips. Richard didn't say anything; instead, he stared down at Paul with those impossible eyes, with such an intensity to them that they turned wounded and soft. Paul didn't speak; instead he waited, and his patience was rewarded, by Richard leaning in. His lips ghosted against Paul's own, in a butterfly soft touch, and Paul inhaled sharply with surprise. Richard almost backed away at that, yet Paul's mouth chased his, closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Richard's mouth was as soft as Paul had imagined it to be, yet his kisses weren't; instead, they were needy and desperate, born of pain and frustration and incredible, unutterable need. Paul lost himself to that kiss, body relaxed against Richard's own, and he was ready for anything that Richard might be willing to give him or take from him. Richard seemed to sense that, for he pressed in with an amused growl, hands coming to rest possessively against Paul's butt, pulling him closer, close enough that Paul could feel the hard heated line of the other man's stirring erection. Paul settled closer, body reacting to Richard's own, as his own cock stirred into life; then Richard pulled away, and whilst he stared at Paul's mouth still, obviously craving more, he shook his head.

"Too soon, Paulchen. I'll hurt you," he said. 

"You won't," Paul assured him, wondering for a moment what the hell the other man was even talking about. 

"I will," Richard replied, roughly, even as he began to turn away. "You don't know what I am, Paul. I'll hurt you. I've grown too close, too fond of you for that. Shouldn't have done that. Fucking stupid." 

"Richard," Paul said, reaching out to catch Richard by the arm when it seemed as though Richard was going to leave his side.

Whilst he managed to snag the other man and Richard seemed all too willing to be snagged, for he didn't pull away, he still was tense beneath Paul's palm. Paul ran his hand soothingly over Richard's arm, until he was holding the other man's hand.

"You won't hurt me," Paul said, meeting Richard's gaze and maintaining eye contact fiercely. "I trust you." 

Richard's jaw tensed at that, surprise clear in his gaze, and then his expression softened, his mouth loosened, yet still, he shook his head.

"Not now, Paul," he said, softly. "Maybe soon, but not now. You don't know my story." 

"Tell it to me, then," Paul challenged. "I'll listen. I'll understand." 

"You won't," Richard said, turning away. "You'll leave." 

"I won't. This is my flat. I can't leave," Paul said, aiming for a joke to try and relax the other man.

"You knew what I meant," Richard said, but his comment wasn't meant unkindly, Paul could tell. 

"I won't leave you," Paul said, simply, that time. 

"Give me time, Paulchen, and then you'll hear it all," Richard said, before he turned and quietly left the room.

Paul felt the other man's absence keenly and suddenly the room seemed too small, too cold, too lonely, without Richard there.


	9. Chapter 9

Richard was already in bed by the time that Paul wandered through to the living area; despite the fact that Richard's back still was mostly turned against him, Paul saw Richard lift one hand in goodnight.

"G'night, Richard," Paul softly said, and smiled when he heard Richard softly repeat the salutation.

Paul had no choice then, but to leave the other alone, to wander back to his bedroom; he didn't sleep for a long time afterwards. His mind kept replaying that kiss, over and over again, and the following anger displayed by Richard that seemed aimed at someone else rather than at Paul, yet even that remembered anger did not dull his lust, nor quell the painful erection that had started sometime during the kiss he'd shared with Richard. He had no choice but to take himself in hand once again and to pleasure himself hard and fast, yet strangely that time, he felt oddly disgusted with himself, as though he'd used Richard's pain, and Richard's anger as fuel for late-night self-pleasured fumblings.

He went to sleep finally, but neither his dreams, nor his sleep in general, were restful.

*****

"Where are you going?" Paul asked, the next morning, in alarm.

He'd risen just in time to find that Richard was already awake, and in the process of stuffing what meagre possessions he had into one of his suitcases.

"I'm leaving," Richard said, but there was a lost tone to his voice, as though he didn't quite mean what he was saying, as though he didn't really want to even go. 

"You can't. Where are you gonna go?" Paul asked, and Richard merely shrugged without looking at him. "Richard, look at me."

It took Richard a while to do so, yet finally, he did, eyes lifting to rest uncertainly upon Paul's face.

"Where?" Paul asked, firmly.

"I don't know. Maybe a guesthouse or something," Richard finally replied.

"You don't want to. I can see that you don't. Please stay," Paul said, and some of his sudden heartache must have been visible in his voice for Richard paused and stared openly at him. "I don't want you to go, okay? I don't know why, just yet, but I don't want you to. I feel like there's something you need help with. I wanna help. Genuinely."

"You can't. Not against this. No one really can," Richard said, even as he pushed his half packed suitcase aside with disgust. 

"Let me try," Paul said, chin lifting defiantly as a counterpoint to his words. 

Richard merely snorted in disgust and looked away, yet Paul was gratified to note that he still didn't move. Instead, he remained stock-still, and unyielding, an immovable force in the middle of the living room. 

"You don't have to tell me what's going on, or at least not all of it, and definitely not straight away, but at least throw me a fucking bone, or something," Paul said, his frustration clear in his voice. "Anything. I'd like to think I'm your friend. Let me help." 

Richard sighed and that one sound sounded like a plea, a cry for help, more than an actual shout would have done. 

"Please," Paul said, uncertain that even that one word would be too much and would tip Richard over the edge into leaving. 

"Fine," Richard said, but he didn't sound angry, merely tired. "But don't blame me, if you think I'm fucking crazy." 

"I doubt that, but okay," Paul said, even as Flake wandered in. "Fucking hell, Flake." 

"What?" Flake asked, in sudden surprise, before he picked up on the sudden tension in the air. "Jesus. I'm interrupting something. Sorry."

"No fucking shit," Paul said, and that brief outburst at least earned him an amused laugh from Richard.

Flake merely snorted and stamped into the kitchen, yet it wasn't far enough away to genuinely give the pair their privacy. 

"Maybe when Flake goes on his date, on Saturday," Richard said, softly. "When we're alone, and I'll tell you." 

"Okay," Paul said, knowing that he had to be satisfied with that at least, even though he knew he had to wait until the weekend to do so. "Unpack your fucking bag." 

This last was spat out as he strode into the kitchen, where he was beset again with memories of the kiss they'd shared at the sink, and Flake's mere presence there seemed to taint it somehow. Paul turned away, and saw that Richard was standing close by, hovering without touching him, even though it was obvious that he really wanted to, that he even craved the contact. Paul stared up at him in open challenge, chin jutting defiantly out and Richard grinned suddenly. That eased some of the tension in the room, and it was only then that Paul realised how quiet and still Flake had become. 

"I don't regret it," Richard said, as he pointed in the vague direction of the sink and Paul knew that he meant the kiss, without Richard even referring directly to it. "I wanted that to happen, since the first time I saw you." 

"Me, too," Paul admitted, without hesitation or dropping his gaze from the other man's.

Richard smiled and Paul returned it; the moment would have been near perfect, if not for Flake.

"Okay; talking in code now. I see," Flake said, sarcastically. "Just forget that I even bloody exist here, why don't you?" 

"All will become clear, in time," Richard shot at him, without taking his gaze from Paul. "I hope. Give me time." 

"I will," Paul insisted, and he wondered if they even were talking about the same thing anymore.

He knew, from his end, that he wanted more from Richard, wanted a relationship, more kisses, anything that Richard saw fit to bestow upon him if only he was willing. Richard looked sharply at him and then the sharpness in his gaze fled, replaced by a happy grin, quite unlike his usual ones. Paul responded in kind, surprised at how unguarded Richard suddenly looked, how positively joyous and beautiful his grin coud be. Richard snorted and suddenly reached out to give Paul a rough bear hug, playful and surprising and incredibly desirable to Paul right then. He laughed and relaxed into it, arms sliding gently around Richard's body, surprised at how firm Richard was, as he'd suspected those curves would feel soft beneath his hand. 

"Well, that's a development," Flake said, but Paul could hear a smile in his voice. "And a good one, too. Finally." 

"Fuck off," Paul said, voice only slightly muffled against Richard's shoulder.

Richard laughed, hug easing into something more gentle and affectionate; even Flake had the good grace to laugh.

****

"So, something's developing between you and Richard, then?" Flake asked, over their lunchtime cooffee in the comic book store.

Paul groaned, bowed his head, and felt the fragrant steam wafting up from his coffee mug fan against his skin. 

"Paul," Flake prodded, both literally and verbally, words as sharp as his fingers were against Paul's side. "Rude." 

"Yeah, something's developing," Paul finally replied, and he sighed, more in frustration, than anything else. "Although quite what it's developing into, I'm not sure yet. It's complicated. At least to me, it is." 

"I'm just gonna pretend I know what you're talking about and tell you to give it time," Flake said, as he took a sip of his coffee. "I know you haven't been dating much in years, which is probably why it seems confusing, and too much, right now." 

Paul almost scoffed at his friend, yet held back at the last minute; his initial reaction after that was to let Flake just believe what he wanted to believe and tell him the truth later on, if he could. 

"So what exactly happened, last night? Can you at least tell me that much?" Flake asked.

"Persistent bastard," Paul mumbled, as he stared down into the murky depths of his coffee. 

Flake merely raised one eyebrow at him and patiently waited. Paul glanced up, and Flake held his silence, waiting, waiting, waiting and finally, Paul broke. 

"We kissed, alright?" Paul snorted. 

"Finally. Good is he?" Flake asked, with a sudden sharp exclamatory cackle of laughter. 

"Don't ask stupid questions," Paul said, as he turned away in disgust.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Flake said, and there was a note of triumph ringing clear in his voice as he spoke.

Paul was about to swear at him, yet was saved the indignity of it by a customer wandering into the store. Paul looked up and over when he heard the customer's approach and smiled when he recognised Christoph Schneider, who worked with Flake's boyfriend, Till, in the luthier's shop.

"Hallo, Schneider," Paul said, with a grin. "How's things?"

"Not too bad. Can't complain," Schneider said, with a typically cheerful grin at the smaller man. "Have you heard the news, this morning?"

"No," Flake said, joining the conversation with some interest. "What news? Anything juicy and depraved?" 

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Schneider said, with a grimace. "Sorry to disappoint." 

"Oh," Flake said and he half-turned away, some of his interest dissipating with the other man's revelation. 

"I can tell you that is weird," Schneider added, and immediately regained Flake's attention again. "Right up your alley, though, and I do mean both of you, when I say that." 

"Yeah? How so?" Paul asked, as he leant on the counter to stare at the other man with some interest. 

"It's like something out of one of your comic books," Schneider said, as he gestured towards the racks behind him. "Several people said they saw a dragon or something flying over Berlin." 

"A dragon?" Paul asked, with obvious delight mingled with scepticism in his face and his voice. "Surely not." 

"Were they drunk?" Flake asked, suspiciously.

"Doubtful," Schneider said, dryly. "It seems as though a bunch of kids saw it while visiting the zoo in the Tiergarten. Said they saw it gliding overhead, and the animals were going wild in their enclosures." 

"Weird," Paul muttered. 

"It must have been an aeroplane or something," Flake said, dismissively. "You know how kids like making up stories." 

"Maybe so," Schneider admitted, with a shrug. "Except a bunch of old biddies saw it. too." 

"They probably were all hopped up on the sherry," Flake said, immediately. "I don't believe a word of it. Dragons, indeed." 

"Scepticism is strong in this one," Paul said, drolly, and his comment made Schneider laugh. 

"Why do you even believe it, Paul?" Flake challenged, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Paul.

"I'm not saying that I do, specifically, but I'd still like to think it's true. How cool do you think that would be to have real life dragons flying about the place? I'd love that," Paul enthused, happily. "It really would be like something out of a comic book." 

"You would think that," Flake snorted, before he returned his attentions to Schneider again, who'd been following their exchange with some amusement. "Is there actually anything we can do for you, or are you just gonna talk myths and legends all morning?" 

"Just popped in to say hallo, on my way back to work. I had a late lunch," Schneider said, defensively. "Just wanted to see how you both were." 

"We're good," Flake said, still a little offended, seemingly, by the thought of dragons over Berlin. "Paul's better than me, however." 

"How so?" Schneider asked, as he gave Paul a quizzical look. 

"He's got himself a boyfriend, at last," Flake supplied, before Paul could.

"Yeah? I would offer you congratulations, but it seems rather trite," Schneider said, with a laugh. "What's his name? What's he like?"

Paul smiled at the other man's obvious interest and told Schneider a little about Richard, realising only then that he didn't know as much about the other man as he'd thought. He found that he didn't mind, though; he liked his men mysterious and he knew that he had plenty of time to find out more about Richard.

"He sounds nice," Schneider said, approvingly. "I hope you get on well with this one. The last few guys you've been with were bloody awful, if you don't mind me saying."

"I don't mind and I've called them worse than that, believe me," Paul said, with a dry snort ratcheting in his nose.

"I'll bet," Schneider said, before he checked his watch. "Anyway, I'd best be getting back. I'm late as it is; Till will have my bollocks for sure, if I'm late again this week. See you guys later." 

"Sure, see ya," Paul said, as Flake repeated the sentiment beside him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a bit o' the sexy-times, I tell thee.

The remainder of the day passed by quite pleasantly enough and Paul was glad to see that Richard still was in studious residence by the time that he and Flake returned to the flat after work; he even seemed to be reading the comic books he'd purchased from Comic World earlier in the week with great enjoyment. Richard seemed a little happier than he had in the morning, yet he kept stealing glances at Paul, though he said little about why he was; Paul assumed it was because Flake was still hanging around, chatting and carrying on as though no tension existed in the room. They spent the rest of the evening in each other's company, watching TV and eating dinner, and when it came to bedtime, Paul was stopped by Richard, before he left the room; Flake nodded, more to himself than to the others, and studiously left them alone, with a wicked grin thrown over his shoulder at them. Richard didn't say anything, merely cupped Paul's face in his too warm hands and leant in to kiss him.

Paul closed his eyes and responded easily, enjoying the feel of Richard's mouth on his, and when he felt the soft press of the other man's tongue against the seam of his lips, he opened up for him. He felt Richard's tongue playing with and stroking alongside his, and the sensation felt nice, enjoyable and he returned every slick caress willingly. He felt Richard's hand heavy upon his back, sliding down to cup his butt gently, fingers massaging against him, and Paul moaned slightly, felt his cock stir into interested life at the contact.

Richard pushed away, yet not before Paul felt the hard line of Richard's own erection against his hip and he missed the loss of the other man's heat, and the feel of his body and mouth upon him. He wanted to feel Richard on top of him, feel him inside him as Richard made love to him, wanted it so keenly, it was like a desperate and suprprising ache inside him. Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his eyes for Richard smiled, cupped Paul's face again and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth.

"Later, Paulchen. We have plenty of time for that," he murmured against the line of Paul's mouth. "Don't forget what I said. I'll hurt you." 

"I trust you," Paul mumured again, but he knew somehow that Richard still would not give him what they both obviously wanted just yet. 

Richard swallowed, and nodded gratefully, silently at him. Then he stopped, smiled and spoke again.

"You don't mind me calling you Paulchen, do you? Only I heard Flake call you it and I thought it sounded nice. It suits you. Cute little Paul," he said, and smiled.

"If I'd minded, I would have asked you to stop by now," Paul pointed out, even as a grin spread its way across his face at being called cute by Richard. "You have called me Paulchen more than once, by now." 

"Hmm," Richard nodded, before he looked to his bed. "I'd best say g'night now, huh? Before I get tempted and just fuck you right now." 

"I'm tempted to just stick around and see if you will," Paul said, even as he looked to the door of the living room.

Richard laughed, and closed the distance between them; Paul looked up to him and almost expected to be given something other than a kiss and a cuddle. He was disappointed, although not admittedly by much, when Richard gave him his kiss and his hug, both warm and lingering against his mouth and his body and Paul relaxed willingly into both. 

"Go to bed, Paulchen," Richard said, finally, and there was that yearning expression deep in those strange eyes again. "I'll see you in the morning." 

"Same to you," Paul murmured, entranced by the soft shine across Richard's luminescent eyes. 

He suddenly thought of lizard's eyes, which morphed suddenly into thoughts of dragons; he snorted suddenly at his own train of thought. He knew that part of his thought processes had been influenced, undoubtedly, by Schneider earlier in the day. 

Richard smiled and slipped away and once again, Paul mourned the loss of him and his heat against his body. He forced himself to pad from the room, leaving Richard alone on the sofa bed.

****

Later that nght, Paul visited the bathroom, bladder screaming for release. On his way back to the bedroom, he heard sounds from the living room again, deep guttural moans emenating from the sofa bed. He thought for a moment that Richard was once again having one of his nightmares, yet the sounds were different, more guttural, more pleasured, and .. oh, shit. Paul flushed and backed away from the door, embarrassed at having almost disturbed Richard whilst the other man was obviously pleasuring himself. He heard the long low, drawn out murmur of his own name passing Richard's lips, filled with a deep yearning that made his heart and his cock ache to hear it. Richard obviously wanted him, judging by that deep longing he heard. He backed away still further and slipped into his bedroom, knowing that he, once again, had a date with his own hand. Paul was beginning to get really tired of wanking off, all of a sudden.

****

The rest of the week passed by in a pleasant blur; Richard seemingly started to feel more at home in the flat and even Flake was a little less sarcastic towards him. Richard's vague hugs began to get a little more confident and assured, and the kisses they shared were deeper and more needy. Richard even had the pre-possession to kiss Paul in front of Flake on Saturday morning, and whilst Flake had made his habitual sounds of disgust, Paul had gotten quite the kick out of it, turning the kiss dirty and needy when Richard didn't immediately draw away. 

That night, Till arrived at the flat in preperation for his date with Flake; he insisted on popping in to see Richard about his application form, after first giving Flake his customary body-swallowing bear hug.

"Are you free next Tuesday?" Till asked, as he stared down at Richard, pulling his socks onto his feet whilst perched on the edge of the sofa bed. "Say at about 9am? If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to interview you then." 

"Sure, I'm free," Richard said, with a nod, barely able to hide a sudden grin of pleasure at that. "I'll be there." 

"Good," Till said, with a nod but he didn't quite smile. "See you next Tuesday, then. "

Richard nodded, and watched as Till walked from the room, with one final sharp nod and a grunted goodbye.

"I don't think he likes me," Richard said, a little worriedly, as soon as the other man had left.

"Oh, he does," Paul assured him, with a laugh as he began to push the sofa bed back together, after Richard had vacated his perch from the edge of it. "He's like that with everyone, especially when he first gets to know someone. He's even like that with Flake, sometimes, and they're dating." 

Richard snorted out a sudden laugh at that, before he shook his head and came up behind Paul. He rested his hands upon Paul's hips, thumbs rubbing circles against patches of bare skin exposed where Paul leant over, shirt raised slightly. Paul slowly stood, and turned without dislodging Richard's hands from his hips, fingers trailing across his skin as Paul moved. Paul leant in to Richard, one hand shoring up on the nape of the other man's neck, yet Paul did little more than to stare at him. 

"What are we doing, Richard?" he asked, softly. "What's happening?" 

"I don't know," Richard admitted, softly. "But all I do know is that I'm attracted to you, and have been since you ran me over. Is that not enough?" 

"For now," Paul said. "I'm just confused. Things are going so fast, now." 

"Go with them. Don't think about it. Let it happen," Richard said, as he leant in, lips dragging gently against Paul's in a not quite kiss

Paul sighed and leant further in, mouth trapping against Richard's; he felt the slick slide of Richard's tongue against his own and he moaned quietly into the contact, as the other man settled closer, bodies aligning perfectly. Paul was the first to ease away, to sigh against Richard's lips, before he offered the other man a smile. 

"So, we're alone," he said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. "For the evening."

"At last," Richard said, with a smile, as his hands described circles against Paul's back. 

Paul smiled in return, and shivered pleasurably beneath the contact, before he spoke again.

"How about we order a take-away instead of cooking? Just for a change?" he asked, as he snuggled a little closer into Richard's body heat.

Richard nodded, but his gaze still rested upon Paul's mouth; it seemed to Paul then that it wouldn't have mattered quite what he said then, Richard still would have agreed to it. 

"So, what type of food do you like?" Paul asked, in amusement. "I don't really know what sort of things you like, not really." 

"Italian," Richard said. "I could do with some pasta tonight. Or pizza." 

"Sounds good," Paul said, with a nod. "I'll order."

Richard nodded and sat upon the sofa whilst Paul phoned the order through; Paul could feel the other man's eyes raking his body as he did so, and whenever he looked towards him, he found that Richard was indeed staring at him, gaze resting upon his butt more often than not. Paul grinned every time, certain that Richard was unaware that Paul was even staring at him. He turned away, finished ordering and put the phone down. 

"Should be about half an hour," he said. "I guess we'd best lay the table or something while we wait." 

Richard nodded and followed Paul through to the kitchen, where he helped Paul to set the plates and cutlery. Paul was a little distracted, mind freaking out over the fact that he was now, effectively, on a proper date with Richard, albeit admittedly in his own home. He felt nervousness coil in hs stomach, coupled with the fact that he knew that Richard was going to tell him something about himself, something that had been tearing Richard up inside badly enough to give him nightmares. 

He felt Richard step closer and felt the other man's hands close over his own, fingers rubbing at his hands. Paul looked up at Richard then, eyes wide, lips parted, but he couldn't speak. Richard looked concerned then. 

"You're nervous," Richard said. "You shouldn't be. Not of me. I'll try my best not to hurt you. "

"I know. It's been a long time for me," Paul admitted. "You're the first man I've dated properly in a long time." 

"First man? There's been women?" Richard asked, but whilst his tone was teasing, there was an utter seriousness behind the question, as though he wanted to know just what he was up against.

"No," Paul said, abruptly. "I'm not into women. Just men." 

Richard relaxed against Paul then, and cupped Paul's cheek with one hand before he smiled.

"Me, too," he said, eyes resting squarely upon Paul's for a while. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't dated in a while either. Not since I left for New York."

"I find that hard to believe," Paul observed. "I don't mean offence, by that, by the way. I just meant that I think you're too handsome to remain single for long."

"No offence taken, and I could say the same thing about you," Richard said, before he swallowed. "I couldn't date anyone. Something happened to me, in America. Something bad. Fuck, I shouldn't even be telling you this." 

"Richard," Paul said, and reached out before Richard could properly pull away, hand grasping at Richard's own and stilling him where he stood. 

Richard allowed himself to be captured, head bowed, shoulders hunched but he didn't move. It almost seemed to Paul as though he couldn't, now that he'd been willingly trapped by Paul. 

"Please don't. Tell me what happened. You said you would. I meant it when I said I would listen. I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about," Paul said, and he felt suddenly scared that Richard would reject him, all the same and pull away without ever telling him a thing. 

"I know," Richard assured him, after a brief pause. "It's difficult to explain." 

"Try me," Paul said, but he didn't mean the words unkindly, or as a challenge. 

Richard did little more than to stare at him for a few moments, unusual eyes staring down at him with a such a wounded look, it almost broke Paul's heart. He remained silent, patient, waiting, and Richard nodded, mouth set into determined lines as he did so. 

"Okay," he said. "I guess I owe you some kind of an explanation, for all that you've done for me. Besides, I promised I would." 

He sighed and walked away, merely a few paces, yet Paul still felt the loss of the other man's warmth all the same. It always was when Richard walked away that Paul noticed how heated the other man's skin was, how unnaturally hot he always was. He always seemed healthy enough, so Paul always assumed that he just ran naturally hotter than most. He watched as Richard sat down, legs stretched out before him, feet planted against the floor so that he pushed the chair back on its two rear legs. Richard sighed and stared up at the ceiling but, though it was difficult to tell from the angled tilt of the other man's head, Paul could see that Richard wasn't truly seeing much of anything. His eyes had taken a glazed look, as though he was looking into the past, his memories, more than at his surroundings.

"While I was in New York, I was kidnapped," Richard finally started, and his voice sounded distant, as though coming from a great distance and not from the kitchen at all. 

"Jesus," Paul said, alarmed by the confession and by the total lack of expression on Richard's face.

It seemed to him then, that whatever had happened to Richard had been so horrific that it transcended emotions entirely, and that Richard still hadn't truly gotten over the experience yet. He sat beside Richard, heavily, and reached out to take Richard's hand; Richard glanced at him and offered Paul a brief smile, yet Paul was glad for the fact that the other man did not pull away from him. Instead, Richard's fingers curled tightly around his and remained.

"I was taken somewhere, I don't know where exactly. All I do know for certain was that it was some kind of delapidated warehouse, walls broken down, flooded floors, you know the type of place. Cliched gangster's hangout in movies," Richard said, but he didn't smile, despite the purposefully light overtones of his voice.

Paul didn't smile either; instead, he waited, eyes wide and wounded, lips pursed into an alarmed pout as he stared at Richard.

"I was kept there for God knows how long; they did things to me, Paul," Richard said, and his voice was tight and Paul saw great pain and even greater fear widening Richard's eyes then.

Paul swallowed; he almost didn't want to know what things were perpetrated upon Richard's body, yet somehow he felt as though he had to know, to try and understand Richard a litle better. He thought he already had some clue as to why the other man was having bad dreams. 

"You don't need to know it all; just know that they tortured me, beat me ... other things," Richard said and he swallowed, shame filling his face so that he could barely even look at Paul any more.

Paul reached out, and squeezed Richard's hand gently, yet still he didn't say anything. Richard almost smiled at that, and there was a relieved quality to it, as though he thought that that one gesture on Paul's behalf was one of acceptance, of support, which was what Paul had intended. 

"I lost track of exactly what happened and half the time, I don't know what was real and what wasn't," Richard said, and he broke off, suddenly and swallowed.

"That's understandable. Anyone would be the same under horrific circumstances," Paul said, softly.

Richard smiled again at the support, but continued without thanking him. It almost seemed as though that once he started, he couldn't stop; he had to tell some version of events or never tell it at all. 

"They did something else. One of them was unlike anything I've ever seen before. They injected me with something," he said, and he swallowed, seemed unable to continue.

"Drugs?" Paul asked, in horror. 

"I suppose," Richard said, and he began to look uncomfortable. "I felt indescribable pain, like something biting me - "

He didn't get the chance to speak further, for the doorbell rang, strident and unwelcome in the suddenly weighted atmosphere of the flat. Paul cursed violently, and stared at Richard, hoping for some clue, verbal or otherwise, so that he knew what best to do.

"That's the food," he said, unneccessarily, when Richard didn't immediately react. 

Richard nodded, bleakly, but seemed unable to do anything more than that for the time being.

"I'd best get it," Paul continued, uncertain as to whether it was even the best time for it anymore.

He'd lost his appetite after hearing Richard's tale and he doubted that the other man would even want to eat anything himself, anymore, either.

"Yeah," Richard said, and spoke no more. 

Paul sighed and shuffled from the room, even as a loud knock pounded at the door, more impatient that time. Paul all but ripped the door open, brusquely paid for the food and took the carrier bag the food came in from the delivery person. He slammed the door, before the man had even taken a few steps away from their threshold, returning to the kitchen. Richard hadn't moved, yet when Paul entered, he stood, and insisted upon helping Paul ladle out the pasta. Paul almost refused, yet saw that Richard needed to do something, to keep his mind and his hands busy and he capitulated. Richard stayed close by his side, hand brushing occasionally against Paul's own, and Paul leant one shoulder against Richard's arm, giving comfort as best as he knew how, yet he wasn't sure even that was effective enough in the grand scheme of things. 

He sat besde Richard once the plates were loaded with food, but didn't speak. He didn't know what to say; Richard's story had robbed him of words and the other man didn't seem to want to continue his tale either. Paul didn't want to press him, so merely laid one hand on top of Richard's again and ate one handed. That earned him a grateful smile, and Richard turned his hand over, linking his fingers through Paul's. That oddly gave Paul some kind of comfort and he continued to eat, hand warmed by Richard's hot flesh, until the food was consumed; they still hadn't exchanged a word, and Paul didn't expect to, either.

They washed up in silence, and Paul was about to lead Richard into the living room, when Richard's hot hand stopped Paul where he stood; Paul stared up at him, curiously, expectantly, patiently, until Richard spoke. 

"I suppose you think badly of me now?" Richard asked, and he suddenly seemed unable to meet Paul's gaze then.

"Why?" Paul asked, genuinely confused by Richard's question. "What happened wasn't your fault. They were bad men, that's all."

"I suppose," Richard said, with a sigh of great relief. 

"Do you even know why they did all that shit to you?" Paul asked, as he reached up to curl one hand around Richard's chin, thum rubbing gently against the other man's lowe lip.

Richard closed his eyes, exhaled sharply, before he smiled and pressed a gentle kiss against the pad of Paul's thumb. 

"Not really, no," he said. "As far as I can work it out, it could just as well have been anyone else, as me." 

"Well. I hope you reported the fuckers that did that to you," Paul said, viciously, with great heated anger that was directed towards Richard's attackers rather than at Richard himself. 

"I tried," Richard said, gently. "But no one would listen or seemed willing to help. The only thing I could think of to do was to return here, to Berlin, where at least things were familiar." 

"And then some arse-hole ran you over as soon as you got here," Paul said, with a disgusted sigh.

"That was an accident," Richard reminded Paul. "What happened in New York wasn't. Besides, when you think about it, you swept me off my feet in more ways than one. "

"Flatterer," Paul said, and grinned despite himself.

"It's true," Richard insisted, despite the grin that decorated his own face. "I think meeting you has been the best thing that's happened to me in a long while." 

 

"The same could be said for me, too," Paul said, awkwardly. "Without the being hit by a car part." 

 

Richard huffed and fell silent, although that silence was not an awkward one. He simply stared at Paul at close range, eyes shining oddly in the dimness, and his mouth descended suddenly upon Paul's. The kiss was warm and tentative and achingly tender; Paul reciprocated, leaning into the kiss bodily. He eased away to stare at Richard again.

 

"Come on; let's go and relax," he murmured. "I think we need to try and forget things for a while. You don't have to tell me any more, if it's too difficult." 

"I do have more to tell you," Richard said. "But not yet. Too much tonight." 

Paul nodded, and led Richard to the sofa, where they settled down to watch a movie. Richard was warm and solid against Paul, sitting too close despite the fact the sofa was large enough to accommodate them both quite comfortably. Paul liked the prolonged proximity to Richard, yet he felt that he couldn't quite concentrate on the film, too distracted by the thoughts of all that had Richard had recounted running through his mind. Richard also seemed distracted, whenever Paul looked his way, teeth worrying at his lower lip, yet Paul didn't know what to say to stop it all. There was nothing he could conceivably do, or say, to make the memories go away, after all. 

"Paul," Richard said, quietly after another fifteen minutes had passed.

"Hmm?" Paul asked, when Richard didn't immediately speak. 

"What would you say if I said I wanted to make love to you tonight?" he asked, in the tone of voice that indicated he thought that Paul would refuse, would turn him down, would even scoff at him.

"I'd say - yes please," Paul said, with a smile. 

That at least earned him a sudden surprised laugh from Richard.

"I want you, Paul, but I'm scared," Richard admitted, and seemed unable to look Paul in the eye again. 

"I'm scared, too, but I still want you," Paul said, gently. "I still want you to fuck me." 

"Yeah," Richard said, softly. "But you don't know what I could do to you. I'll hurt you, when we're together." 

"You won't," Paul said, confused as to even what the other man meant. "I'll tell you if you hurt me and we'll try something else. I trust you." 

He wasn't even sure whether they were even talking about the same things, yet Richard wasn't elaborating on what, exactly, he meant. 

"Don't place your trust in me, just yet," Richard said, softly. "Maybe after, if all goes well. And only then if I've earned it." 

"Please tell me what you mean," Paul said, as he reached out to cup one hand around Richard's chin again.

He turned the other man's face towards his, yet still Richard seemed unable to meet his gaze, as though he was ashamed of something.

"I can't," Richard said. "You won't want me." 

"I do. I will," Paul insisted.

"No," Richard said, with a defiant shake of his head. "Too soon."

"Is it connected to what happened to you?" Paul asked, softly.

It took a while yet Richard finally nodded. Paul closed his eyes and exhaled shakily; whatever the men had done to him, they had sure fucked him up, he could tell.

"You don't have to do anything yet, if you don't want to," Paul said, quietly. "I won't mind waiting for you." 

"I want to. I want you. I want to forget everything. You ... you're the only good thing that's happened to me in a while. I want to give something back in the only way I know how," Richard said, gently. "I'm not good with words, Paul. All I know is actions." 

"Me, too," Paul said, quietly. "I'm here. I'm ready whenever you are. Take your time." 

Richard nodded, and fell silent for a while, and Paul didn't speak either. Paul felt the soft brush of Richard's hand against his thigh and he closed his eyes, blotting out his view of the TV screen as the other man slowly caressed him, fingers working higher and higher up his leg, hesitant at first and then more confident when Paul nether protested or pushed him away. Paul inhaled when he felt the first press of Richard's hand against his cock; he found the pressure just what he needed right then. His hips arched up slightly from the sofa as Richard began to rub at him, palm applying the right amount of pressure even through the thickness of Paul's jeans. 

Paul opened his eyes and turned to Richard, and saw that the other man still was staring at the screen, although it was obvious that Richard wasn't actually seeing much of anything again. His eyes had that unfocussed look, as though he was concentrating on something else, was losing himself to something, or someone else. Paul whined, an embarrasing sound that attracted Richard's attention and Paul saw then, how aroused Richard was; his eyes were dilated and his breath came in short sharp bursts. Paul could even smell the other man's arousal, thick and heavy and heady and he grabbed Richard's hand, pushed down harder as he arched up further from the sofa, begging silently for more. Richard made a sound that was half sigh, half moan, and he reached over to unbuckle Paul's belt, fingers fumbling with it until finally it was open, and he eased his hand inside Paul's boxers. Paul cried out when he felt the first brush of Richard's fingers against his cock, warm and real and wrapping firmly around him. It felt good, welcome, wanted and he arched up into the circle of his new partner's fingers, begging with panted moans for more. Richard leant in and stole an open mouthed kiss from Paul's mouth, as he began working at Paul's cock, quickly finding a rhythm that suited them both and Paul was making loud noises as his time started drawing near.

"Gonna come," Paul panted, before Richard leant down, and repositioned himself until his mouth was hovering over the tip of his cock.

Paul waited and felt the first sweep of Richard's mouth over his length, pushing down with welcome wet warmth and he cursed, arched up from the sofa as Richard began to bob his head between his legs, hard and fast and Paul couldn't last long, not with that pleasant torture that Richard was applying to his cock.

"Fuck, Reesh," he said, as he arched up one last time and came hard down Richard's throat, cries rushed and lewd and heavy. 

Richard took as much as he could, and cleaned the rest away with swift kitten-licks of his tongue; he pulled away with a smug smile, palming the remainder of the mess from his mouth. He leant in gave Paul an open-mouthed kiss, and Paul could taste himself on Richard's tongue, and beneath it all, the heated taste of Richard himself. 

"Bedroom?" Richard asked against Paul's mouth, when the kiss had ended.

Paul nodded, but couldn't trust himself to speak; he stood, and was almost tripped by the weight of his own jeans sliding to his ankles. He cursed, and kicked them off, before he padded to the bedroom, Richard in laughing heated tow against his back. It was only when they crowded upon the bed that Paul realised that this was the first time that Richard had ever been in his room, yet he didn't have time to think more on it for Richard was yanking off Paul's boxers with eager hands. Richard's eyes were appreciative when they raked over Paul's exposed partial erection, and the expanse of abdomen reveal by a rucked-up t shirt. Then Richard's gaze lifted and he looked almost embarrassed.

"Do you have ... you know," Richard asked, and he mimed putting on a condom.

Paul laughed and nodded, scooting over the bed to lean over the side and reach for the bedside cabinet. He felt Richard's hand against the exposed curve of his butt then, openly groping him, although his caresses were a little hesitant, as though he expected Paul to reject him, at the last. Paul didn't complain; instead, he pushed his butt back into Richard's heated palm and Richard took that as his cue to grope him properly. Paul was panting heavily by the time that he returned to Richard's side, with the requested condoms and lube. 

It took only a few moments for Richard to divest himself of his own clothing and Paul's eyes raked over his new partner's body, with as much appreciation as Richard had divulged upon him. Richard's body was nicely rounded, in just the way that Paul liked, and he reached for Richard, eagerly; he began caressing and exploring his new partner's body, even as Richard started to spread lube upon his fingers. Richard seemed to be enjoying the contact, eyes closing and body leaning into Paul's soft, caressing touch, breath hitching when Paul touched a particularly good spot. 

Paul leant forward and pressed kisses agaist Richard's chest, mouth suckling at Richard's nipples one by one, hands reaching round to grab at Richard's butt eagerly. He felt the other man's cock brush against the side of his face as he worked himself lower, trailing pre-cum across the curve of his cheek. Paul turned, kissed Richard's cock eagerly, and the other man laughed quietly.

"On your stomach, Paul," Richard murmured, as he patted Paul's head to gain his attention.

Paul at first couldn't fathom what the words meant, mind too overtaken by his own lust and when Richard touched his head again, he moved, suddenly understanding what he was supposed to be doing. He settled upon the bed, pillows wedged comfortably beneath his abdomen and hips and he hissed when he felt the first intrusion of Richard's fingers against his entrance. Richard waited for Paul's nod , before continuing, every movement gentle until Paul started to relax against him, hips moving in time with Richard's movements. Richard then added another finger, widening him still further, and Paul groaned, a deep and needy sound at the thought of what was to come. He felt Richard's mouth press between his shoulder-blades as the other man finally drew away.

"Good boy," Richard murmured against him. "Gonna be rewarded in a moment. Just tell me to stop if I hurt you."

Paul's only response was to groan loudly, hips working at the pillows mindlessly beneath him as he waited for Richard to prepare himself, roll the condom on and to position hemself behind him. Paul cried out when he felt Richard begnning to push inside him; the other man was bigger than expected, although the sensations were far from unpleasant, and Richard stopped.

"You all right?" he asked, and he sounded genuinely worried.

"Oh, yeah," Paul moaned, voice deep with his lust.

Richard chuckled and he took that as his cue to keep pushing in until he was fully sheathed inside Paul. Paul moaned, hands flexing against the sheets beneath him as Richard began to thrust, hips soon finding his rhythm, soft grunts of pleasured exertion soon breaking from his mouth. Paul was crying out by the time that Richard 's movements became more erratic, and he heard an odd gasping, catching breath mere moments before Richard came, Paul's name heavy and shuddering against his lips upon release. Paul achieved climax again, yet it was too soon for it to be anything but dry and slightly painful, yet still he cried out for Richard all the same. 

Richard eased away and Paul turned to snuggle into his lover, smiling when he felt the other man's arms wrapping solidly around him. He felt Richard's mouth against his head, and Paul tilted his head back, received a kiss, soft and surprisingly tender. Richard settled closer, hooked one leg over Paul's hips, gaining more contact between their bodies, and it seemed to Paul suddenly as though Richard wanted the comfort of his body, as well as the prolonged contact of shared pleasure. Paul settled closer, heart aching in his chest as he rested his head against Richard's sweaty shoulder. He wondered then if he was perhaps beginning to fall in love with the other man; he wasn't sure what love even felt like, but he was pretty certain that he must be feeling it. 

He said nothing however, embarrassed by how he was thinking; he didn't want to voice his love aloud in case he frightened Richard away. Richard seemed content to hold him, to snuggle closer every time that it seemed as though Paul would drift away, with each cramp-fuelled shift upon the bed. 

"I didn't hurt you," Richard stated, more than asked, finally, as he smiled into Paul's face.

Paul returned the grin, and shook his head, gaze resting firmly upon Richard's own. Richard's body was soft with his relief, and he snuggled still closer into Paul's body. Paul held him, hands still exploring the soft curves and dips of his lover's body. 

Then Richard moved, and Paul felt the unmistakable press of the other man's erection against his thigh again; without being asked, Paul rolled on top of his pillows again, arousal stiffening his cock as he did so. Richard didn't take long to prepare him again, to replace his fingers with his erection, hips thrusting against hips long into the night, as they enjoyed each other's bodies equally. 

It was as Paul was falling asleep, still wrapped safely in Richard's arms, that he heard the other man speak; he was too far gone in sleep to react, yet the words stayed with him, all the same.

"I choose you," Rcihard murmured against him. "I claim you as mine, Paul Landers." 

Paul smiled, and still was smiling as sleep claimed him at last. As such, he didn't see the stricken look upon Richard's face at his own words, as though the other man wasn't entirely sure as to what he'd done.


	11. Chapter 11

Paul awoke by degrees in the morning, mind still fuzzy from sleep, and his eyes hooded with drowsiness. He stretched languidly, yawning as he did so, and felt the soft slide of Richard's body against his with the movement. Richard huffed out a sigh against the side of Paul's neck and settled closer, as though frightened that perhaps Paul would leave him. Paul smiled and snuggled closer; Richard was warm, warmer still than the already warm spring morning, and comfortable. Richard's eyes cracked open and he smiled at Paul, as Paul slid his arms around Richard's body in a hug.

"Morning," Richard said sleepily. 

"Hi," Paul replied, before he yawned again. "What time is it?" 

"Early. About 8am," Richard murmured, breath warm and tickling against Paul's throat as he bent to kiss it. "Are you okay?" 

"Hmm-hmmm," Paul nodded, stretching luxuriously again.

His body ached a little, but it was a pleasurable ache, every line of his body remembering the way that Richard had made love to him the night before. 

"Are you sure I didn't hurt you?" Richard asked, concerned.

"I'm not a bloody flower, Reesh," Paul said, not unkindly. "I won't break at the slightest touch, you know. "

"I know," Richard said, but there seemed to be something else that he wanted to say, although he seemed not to know how to say it. "I didn't mean that. I don't know what I mean, actually, other than sometimes I don't know my own strength, anymore. Things have ... changed. I'm hopefully worrying about nothing." 

Paul sighed, and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Richard's shoulder. He thought of all that the other man had told him the night before, brief though it had been, and wondered if that was why he'd been so scared of hurting Paul, as he'd been hurt himself, before. He sighed again, hand tightening into a fist against Richard's back; he had the sudden urge to smash out at those who'd dared to hurt Richard, to punch them and make them hurt in turn for all that they'd done. If Richard was hesitant now, it certainly made sense that it was due to past trauma. 

"You're not worrying about nothing, Reesh. I'm sorry," Paul said, quietly, when Richard shifted slightly to look down upon him, concerned. 

"Sorry? What for?" Richard asked, not unkindly. "You have nothing to be sorry for. The guys who did this to me should be sorry." 

"I know," Paul said, quietly. 

He sighed, and leant in to press a kiss against Richard's mouth; he found it soft and pliable against his own as Richard returned the kiss, hesitantly at first and then more eagerly. Paul felt a certain shifting in Richard's body then, as he began to manouvre Paul onto his back; Paul went willingly, legs spreading wide around Richard as the other man slotted in between them. 

"Please," Richard said, as he ran one hand over Paul's chest. "Please, let me do this." 

"Yes," Paul said, eyes closing as he felt Richard's erection hard against his own. 

He felt Richard move then, and the swift, sure movements of Richard's hand against his entrance as he prepared Paul, before his fingers were replaced by the larger feel of his cock, bearing down upon him and sliding in one great thrust. Paul cried out, yet it was more to do with pleasure than with pain as Richard began thrusting into him, every movement eager and fast and hard. Paul hiked his heels up higher upon Richard's back, felt the muscles flexing and contracting there beneath his heels, and Richard moaned at the sudden change in position, as though Paul was silently granting better access to him. Paul felt Richard's movements deepening, angle adjusting now and he felt Richard hitting against that spot inside him again, again, again, and pleasure rose in heated waves through his body, uncontrollable, untamable and he gave in to them, gave in to Richard, hand moving over his cock desperately as he stared up into the other man's face. Richard looked lost, face lax, eyes trapped in lust as his gaze locked with Paul's and Paul saw there a hunger he could never truly know, almost animalistic and needy, and he came, release spilling hot between them as he cried out for Richard, again, again, again, pleasure the most intense he'd felt in a long time. He felt Richard's release inside him, heard the sounds that the other man made as he came, felt the orgasm ratcheting through his lover's body and he held him through it.

Richard rolled away, and again, it seemed as though he needed comfort after sex; Paul cuddled up against him, sated glow humming in his chest and in his body. He couldn't remember quite when he'd last felt so satisfied after love-making, satisfied yet still craving more. Richard smiled and pressed one hand against Paul's chest.

"I think we're good together," was all he said. 

"Yes," Paul agreed, with a grin. "We are." 

Richard smiled and traced his fingers across Paul's chest; Paul shuddered pleasurably as the pads of Richard's fingertips found his nipples and circled them, stroked them, played with them. A shuddering exhalation escaped Paul's lips then and he arched up into the other man's touch, an insistent whine wordlessly asking for more. He felt Richard shifting against him and the soft brush of Richard's lips against his shoulder; Paul reached up and pressed one hand against Richard's back lightly.

"You are so gorgeous," Richard murmured against him. "I'm glad you're mine." 

Paul smiled, and hummed out an agreement, yet Richard had grown still, and silent. His fingers had stopped caressing Paul's nipples, and his mouth no longer pressed kisses against his shoulder. Paul cracked his eyes open and saw that Richard was staring down at him, a stricken, watchful look upon his face, wariness darkening the jewel-like sheen of his eyes. Paul partially sat up, and supported his body-weight by leaning on his elbow. The change in position meant that he almost bumped noses with Richard; the other man laughed a little and pressed a warm kiss against the end of Paul's nose, but the almost fearful weariness never quite left his eyes, despite the warmth remaining from his laughter. 

"What's wrong, darling?" Paul asked, concerned for his new lover, hand reaching for Richard's face and finding it in a gentle caress. 

Richard sighed, a shuddering, almost painful release, and he turned his head and pressed tickling kisses against Paul's palm. 

"I would say nothing, but I don't think you'd believe me," he said, with a rueful smile. 

Paul didn't say anything, merely continued staring at Richard curiously, worriedly, a small frisson of fear settling in his stomach at that. He had a sudden fear that Richard didn't want to be with him any more, that their love-making the night before was all that ever would be between them. 

"I'm scared, Paul," Richard said. "You're the first man I've been with since New York. I don't wanna fuck this up. I don't wanna hurt you. I don't know what's happening, even, what it means for us to be together. I'm scared, Paulchen." 

"Don't be," Paul murmured, as he dared to lean in and press a gentle kiss against Richard's lips.

The fact that Richard allowed that kiss and responded immediately to it reassured him that perhaps his fears were unfounded. 

"Just go with it, whatever happens," Paul continued, as he tried to smile at Richard.

The effort was uncertain, yet grew stronger when Richard reached up to run his fingertips across the curve of Paul's lower lip. Paul kissed Richard's fingers, settling into the heavy intimacy of the moment. 

"I'm scared, too, if that's any consolation," Paul said, when Richard still didn't speak. "But I'm willing to give this a go, if you are." 

Richard's eyes suddenly flew wide at that as he leant back to give Paul an almost comically astonished look. 

"What makes you think I don't want you?" Richard asked, and that question alone washed away the remainder of Paul's fears and he laughed.

Then he shrugged and tried to put what he was feeling into words without sounding potentially stupid, even childish.

"Just the way you were looking at me, made me think you were regretting last night," he said, quietly.

"Regretting - " Richard repeated, before he cut himself off sharply. "I'm not regretting anything, Paul. Are you?"

"Absolutely not," Paul said, indignantly. "That was the best night I've had in a long time. And that was a compliment by the way."

Richard laughed at that, the sound joyful and almost touchable between them. 

"I took it as one," Richard said, finally. "It was the same for me, too."

"Well, then! What are you worried about?" Paul asked, not unkindly. "Just go with it, take it slowly and see what happens." 

"Okay," Richard said, and he pressed his lips against Paul's in a deep and distracting kiss. 

Paul smiled into that kiss, and while he still thought there was some hesitancy in Richard's body, that soon was washed away when Richard began making love to him again, movements assured yet gentle, and definitely pleasurable.

****

They were still lying together when Flake banged noisily through the front door to the flat half an hour later and the sounds of his noisy feet thumped against the hallway floor.

"Paul?" Flake yelled outside his door, even as he knocked upon the barrier. "Has Richard gone? The sofa bed's empty."

"No, he's still here," Paul called back, even as Richard buried his laughter into the curve of Paul's shoulder.

Paul laughed back and nudged Richard in playful warning, yet that seemed to make Richard want to laugh all the harder. 

"Where?" Flake asked, and his confusion was heard, even through the barrier of the bedroom door. "Has he gone out? At this early hour?"

"Fucking hell," Paul muttered, as he shook his head at Richard beside him, who now was laughing silently up at the ceiling. "Would you believe this guy sometimes? I swear he's smarter than he seems, at times." 

"Paul?" Flake yelled. "Have you gone asleep?"

"No, I'm awake, and Richard's in here, with me, you knob-head," Paul called back. 

"Oh fuck, sorry," Flake said, obvious horror in his tone and they heard the distinct sounnds of his hasty, thumping retreat across the hallway. 

Paul shook his head, and felt the rumbles of Richard's laughter vibrating against his shoulder, from where the other man had his head pressed against the curve of it. 

"Well, look at it this way, it's a good thing he didn't just come barging in," Paul told Richard. 

"I suppose," Richard murmured, grin still warming his face as he stared down at Paul. "I suppose I'd best sleep in the living room again tonight, hadn't I?"

"No," Paul said, and reached for Richard, despite the fact that the other man had, as yet, to move away. "You don't have to. I want you here. Flake can just deal with it, however he sees fit." 

Richard smiled, pleased, before he said - "Are you sure?"

"I've just had the best night's sex of my life; d'you think I'm letting you go back out there now, after that?" Paul laughed. "No, kiddo, you're staying in here with me, where you can pleasure me all night long again." 

"I do like the sound of that," Richard agreed, with a sombre, too serious nod. 

There was a brief pause before they both started to laugh.

****

"Where were you all last night, anyway, Flake?" Paul asked, later that morning, before he stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth, swiftly followed by a healthy bite of cheese. 

The activities of the night before with Richard had left him with an incredible appetite, an appetite seemingly mirrored by Richard himself. Flake, as usual, seemed intent upon picking at his food, eating sowly and not taking much at all. 

"At Till's," Flake said, after a brief and all too embarrassed pause.

"All night?" Paul asked, as he waggled his eyebrows at the other man.

"Yes, all night. Get over it. Some of us do have love lives, you know, something that you apparently are indulging in with gusto, now, too," Flake pointed out, as he quirked his gaze and his eyebrows at Richard.

Richard spluttered upon his mouthful, eyes widening as stray crumbs lodged in his throat. Paul didn't feel too happy either, yet before he could give his lover a whack upon the back, the crumbs dislodged, washed down by a healthy swig of coffee. 

"And? I thought you wanted me to start dating again," Paul pointed out, as he frowned slightly at Flake.

Flake huffed out a small laugh at that, wry smile curling the corners of his lips as he winked over at Richard.

"I'm pulling your leg, Paulchen," he said, softly. "Really, I'm pleased for you." 

"Good. I'm pleased for me, too," Paul said, proudly, a comment which provoked a laugh from Flake and Richard both.

****

The following morning, Paul drove into work, leaving Richard behind at the flat to do as he pleased. He checked the rearview mirror on occasion, a perplexed frown crossing his features and pushing deep lines between his brows each time. 

"What's so fascinating, back there, anyway?" Flake ased, as he stared perplexedly at Paul. "Are you looking for more attractive men to run over?"

"They're no good to me, if they're behind me," Paul murmured, distractedly. "And besides, I'm happy with one attractive man, thanks. I don't require any more." 

"So, what are you looking at, then?" Flake persisted, as he twisted partially around to stare awkwardly through the back window of the car. 

"I swear that the same car's been following us almost since we left home," Paul said, quietly. "Every turn we make, they make. I can't believe that they're heading in the exact same direction as we are; every other bastard's turned off, by now." 

"Well, they might be going to the Alexa, same as we are. No law against it," Flake pointed out. "I think you're being paranoid." 

"Says the man who thought aliens were tracking him by the fillings in his teeth," Paul pointed out, wryly. "And that was only last month." 

"Shut up. That was a dream," Flake said, pointedly. 

Paul laughed and turned his gaze back to the rooad; he fell silent, yet still, he continued to keep an eye upon the car that followed them. It still was there by the time that he pulled up in a parking space near to their place of work, driving past slowly. Paul shivered despite the warmth of the day, alarmed even though he didn't quite know why. Flake had seemingly all but forgotten the car, and Paul didn't like to mention it to him, in case the other man scoffed at him, again.


	12. Chapter 12

"That car's following us again," Paul said, later that afternoon, as he drove away from the parking lot, towards Kreuzberg once more. 

"It can't be," Flake said, and there was a genuine note of concern in his face, his voice at that.

"I'm telling you, that it is," Paul insisted, as he checked the mirror again. "The exact same one as this morning; same model, same colour, same bloody number-plate, even. That can't be a coincidence; they must be following us for a reason." 

"Perhaps," Flake agreed, and it seemed as though he was starting to believe Paul. "Wonder who it is?" 

"I don't know, but I don't like the idea of leading them straight to our front door, whoever it is," Paul said, darkly. "I'm gonna try losing them." 

Flake grunted and nodded his agreement, but otherwise remained silent. Paul took a few wrong turns, doubled back on himself and even took a few turns suggested by a watchful Flake beside him. In time, they lost the car that followed them, but it was not without some effort on their part; despite the fact that the car had been lost to traffic, still Paul felt some agitation after drawing up outside their home. He still didn't feel quite safe, and checked the street several times on the walk up towards the front door to their flat, hoping that the car would not still pass. He didn't see it, yet his agitation still communicated itself to Flake.

"I don't fucking like this," Flake said, darkly, as he all but pushed Paul inside the front door. "This is almost like the old days, with the Stasi." 

"Don't say that," Paul said, sharply, yet he knew that, in a sense, Flake was right. 

Flake didn't take his words back, yet he didn't say anything else, either; both men were distracted by the sight of Richard padding out of the living room, an expression of alarm upon his face that seemed to make his eyes glimmer more than usual. 

"What's going on?" he asked, his tone as alarmed as his face.

"A car followed us home," Paul said, before Flake could. "Or partway home, before we lost them. The same car followed us to work, this morning. "

"You're kidding; I don't like the sound of that. Who the fuck would do that?" Richard asked, in alarm, as he made his way to the front window, to peer out of the curtains, warily. 

"No idea," Paul said, with a shrug as he joined his new lover at the window. "I don't like it." 

"Neither do I, thanks for asking," Flake said, on his way past. 

Neither Paul nor Richard took any notice, yet Flake merely shrugged and didn't take offence; both men seemed too intent upon watching the road outside to pay attention to anything else. 

"Nothing yet," Paul said, when Richard looked askance at him, as a green BMW rolled past, followed swiftly by a clapped-out old Citroen. 

Richard grunted, and they watched, yet no other car was to be seen. Finally Flake called them away from the window, whilst imploring them to stop nosing so that they could have their dinner. Both men nodded and did as the other man asked.

****

That night, Richard followed Paul into the smaller man's room, a little awkward and out of place still, yet Paul's welcoming gesture and smile seemed to put him at his ease. He watched as Paul changed into his night-things, noting the almost shy way that Paul did so, as though embarrassed by the intimacy of such a situation, despite the fact that they'd made love long into the night the evening before. 

Paul slipped beneath the covers and waited for Richard to change into his own night-things; Richard finally joined him, warm body soon pressed against Paul's own beneath the covers. Richard lifted the sleeve of Paul's t shirt, pressed his lips against the tattoo emblazoned across Paul's upper arm, gently, in a lingering kiss. Paul turned into Richard's warmth, enjoying the feel of the other man against him.

"I love this," Richard said, as his fingers danced across the surface of the tattoo. "It's unique. I've never seen anything like it before." 

"Thank you," Paul said, with a modest shrug and a pleased smile. "I came up with it myself, one day." 

"It's nice," Richard murmured, as he pressed kisses to the tattoo again. "I like spending time in your bed, Paul." 

"I enjoy having you here," Paul murmured, as Richard's hand began travelling down from where it rested against his chest, and still further down his abdomen. "I wouldn't mind if you made love to me, again, you know, Reesh. "

"I think I can easily be persuaded," Richard smiled against his shoulder, even as he worked his hand beneath the waistband of Paul's soft cotton pyjama bottoms. "I like it when you call me Reesh. You know, no one else does." 

"Good," Paul said, before his breath and further words were stolen by the feel of Richard's hand wrapping around his cock firmly.

He closed his eyes, as Richard begen to stroke him, fingers soon teasing him into partial hardness, gasping moans working from between Paul's lips as he did so. Richard's hand grew harder and faster and Paul was soon arching up into the circle of his still moving fingers, flesh stiffening into full hardness beneath Richard's concentrated ministrations. He felt Richard moving then, disappearing beneath the covers, and easing the fabric of Paul's pyjamas and underwear down, hand still awkwardly stroking at Paul's cock , as he did so. His hand was soon replaced by the swift slick slide of his lips moving over Paul's erection, and Paul groaned again, eyes closing and hand shoring up in the other man's soft hair. Richard began pleasuring him with lips and with tongue, fingers stroking him occasionally up and down his length. Paul's groans grew louder, deeper, more frequent and aroused as Richard continued skillfully pleasuring him; he couldn't remember a time when he'd had as good of a blow job as the one Richard was currently giving him. Richard's lips and tongue teased him, played and laved at him, until Paul felt as though there was nothing else in the world except the feel of Richard's mouth upon his length. Richard took him deeper, swallowed around his head and Paul came with a surprised shout, spilled down Richard's throat with a moan of completion ratcheting in his chest, body arching from the sheets beneath him mindlessly. He slumped down, even as he felt Richard's mouth slide over him and the other man's grinning face soon appeared beneath the covers, to lay atop Paul.

"Fuck me. You're good at that," Paul murmured, with a sated, weary grin at his lover. 

"I can agree on both parts," Richard said, even as he rolled his hips purposefully against Paul's own, hard enough that Paul could feel the other man's erection rubbing against him. 

Paul moaned, and wordlessly drew his legs up, simultaneously silently begging for Richard to fuck him, and giving his consent for the other man to do so. Richard didn't waste any time in pulling Paul's pyjama bottoms off the rest of the way, before he divested himself of his own clothing, returning with the lube that they had abandoned the night before in the bedside cabinet. He began preparing Paul, fingers moving confidently against Paul, stretching him enough to take him. When he was satisfied that Paul was ready and had checked to see whether Paul was all right, he laid atop him and guided himself into the other man with a relieved moan, hips soon working at hips as he began thrusting into Paul, each movement eager, as his hands as he explored Paul's body in hungry caresses. 

Paul responded, body arching up to meet Richard's every time that the other man drew away; Paul's hands pressed down upon his lover's butt to encourage him to go deeper, and to move faster and harder. Richard didn't need encouraging; he thrust harder, faster, deeper, losing himself to Paul and Paul was soon crying out loudly, each cry filled with arousal and extreme pleasure before he climaxed hard between them. Richard felt the shockwaves of his partner's climax shuddering through his body and he came, released hard inside Paul as he bit down harshly upon Paul's shoulder, hard enough to break skin and to draw blood. Paul cried out again, and his voice was filled with the remnants of his pleasure mingled with a little pain, yet it was a good noise, not one of genuine anguish, or distress.

Paul relaxed back with a sigh when Richard drew away, soon crowding in to wrap his arms around Paul once it was over, in his habitual need for comfort, that Paul was only to willing to give. Paul's shoulder ached where Richard had bitten him, yet it was a good ache, and he felt strangely pleased and aroused that the other man had chosen to mark him in such a manner. He felt Richard's mouth upon the bite, kissing it and licking it, almost as though he were trying to soothe the pain and the vague smears of blood away from his skin. 

"I'm sorry," Richard said, between kisses. 

"Don't worry," Paul murmured, lazily. "I'm not sorry." 

Richard hummed in pleasure against him and kissed again, tongue lapping to play against the edge of the bite gently; Paul shuddered with pleasure, wondering how on earth Richard had even known that he liked being bitten during sex. He wondered if perhaps he wasn't the only one, whether Richard was into that, too; he knew however that he couldn't ask, neither had he had the time to learn things like that about the other man yet. They'd barely known each other for a little over a week, after all, yet to Paul, it seemed as though they'd known each other longer. 

"You still with me, Paul?" Richard murmured against Paul's shoulder, with some amusement.

"Yeah, just thinking," Paul replied, with a smile.

"About?" Richard asked, as he peppered more kisses against Paul's shoulder. 

"How it feels like we've known each other for longer than we have," Paul admitted.

"Why do I get the feeling you think that's a bad thing?" Richard teased, yet there was a worried light to his eyes, as though he thought that Paul might indeed be thinking that very thing. 

"You know that's not true," Paul murmured, gently, still too languid from love-making to properly react or get angry.

Richard laughed and returned to kissing Paul's shoulder. Paul sighed and closed his eyes; soon, he was drifting, sleep beckoning him into the folds of dreamlessness, and at last, he slept.

****

The following morning, Richard dressed himself a little more smartly than was his wont so far, donning a formal pair of trousers and a plain black shirt that accentuated the curve of his shoulders and the swell of his muscled arms. Paul couldn't stop staring, gaze flickering with appreciation over Richard's body. 

"You're staring," Richard muttered, as he fiddled with his shirt collar, whilst squinting at himself, and Paul, by proxy, in the mirror. 

"I can't help it that you're so bloody hot today," Paul said, as his gaze flickered down to Richard's butt and stayed.

"Just today?" Richard teased, as a laugh rumbled in his chest and transmitted itself to the still staring Paul.

"You know what I meant," Paul huffed, even as he closed the distance between them to help Richard press his suddenly wayward collar down flat. 

Richard laughed at him, although not unkindly, and Paul looked askance at him.

"You're fussing, " Richard said, with a gentle, teasing note to his smile, which told Paul that despite his words, Richard really didn't mind the attention.

Paul was fussing because he cared, after all. 

"You've got an interview," Paul pointed out. "With a guy who happens to be dating my flat-mate. I want you to do well, you know, Reesh. I want you get the bloody job, don' t I? I'm trying to look after you." 

"I know, darling," Richard said, as he leant forward to peck a kiss against Paul's mouth.

Paul smiled at that, realising that it was the first time that Richard had uttered any kind of endearment towards him at all and he found that he rather liked it. Richard seemed almost to expect rebuttal for the use of the word, yet when no complaints were forthcoming, he smiled and relaxed a little.

"I think I'm ready," he announced. "Drive me into town and wish me luck?" 

"I shall do both quite gladly, my love," Paul said, returning the favour of addressing his lover with an endearment, although he had to admit some awkwardness doing so to himself

The epithet seemed to please Richard greatly, for he graced Paul with one of his rare, unguarded grins that made his eyes, and his whole face shine. Paul couldn't help but return the smile and pat Richard upon the butt.

"Now, let me get ready and we'll share breakfast, before we go. Flake will no doubt complain if I don't get my arse into gear," Paul said. "I'm the principal key-holder of Comic World. If I'm not ready, the store stays closed. He hasn't got a key; he said he didn't want the responsibility of having one." 

"Sensible," Richard said, uncertainly. 

Paul only nodded and laughed.

****

The trip into town was brief, and Paul walked, with Flake pointedly lagging behind, with Richard to Lindemann's Luthiers. Schneider was standing outside, cigarette in hand, eyes partially closed against the brightness of the day. He grinned when he saw the trio approach, before he nodded at Richard.

"You're here for the interview, yes?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Richard said, surprised that Schneider had even remembered him. 

"Till seems to have taken a shine to you, I think," Schneider told him. "But don't let that go to your head. Anything could happen, in there, and it quite frequently does." 

"Ah," Richard said, awkwardly, before he looked to Paul, helplessly. 

"He's joking, I hope," Paul offered, with a chuckle. "Anyway, good luck, liebling. You're gonna do fine in there." 

"Thank you," Richard said, gently. "See you at lunchtime?" 

"Yes," Paul nodded, mere seconds before Richard pressed a hefty kiss against his mouth. 

"See you later, if I'm still alive," Richard said, before he made his way inside the luthier's store, with wishes of luck still ringing in his ears.

Paul watched him leaving, worried for his lover, despite the fact that he had more than an inkling that Till would employ Richard, if Schneider was correct in his assumptions that the owner of the luthier's liked him. Schneider was staring at him, eyebrows raised and a cheeky grin curling the corners of his mouth.

"Wow, I didn't know you had a new boyfriend, Paulchen," Schneider said, when he became aware of Paul's scrutiny. "About time." 

"He ran him over last week," Flake said, with a gleefully dark grin. 

"Did you, now? And now you're dating him?" Schneider asked, with a laugh. "Okay. Bizarre way to meet, but different strokes for different folks, as they say." 

"Not your usual love story, but it certainly worked for us," Paul agreed, with a laugh.

"Love story?" Flake asked, with a sudden quick grin. "Are you in love, Paul?" 

"Might be," Paul said, suddenly embarrassed by his own slip of the tongue.

"He is," Schneider laughed, as he pointed at Paul with his cigarette free hand. 

"Defintely," Flake agreed, with a triumphant little nod.

"Screw you guys. I'm gonna open the shop. See you later, Schneider," Paul groused, as he stalked towards Comic World.

Flake nodded to the still laughing Schneider, before he too followed in the footsteps of Paul.


	13. Chapter 13

Later that morning, Paul looked up when the bell above the door of their comic shop jangled, admitting the presence of a hulking man. He didn't look the type of person to enjoy comic books, yet Paul was not one to judge. Not every comic book reader had to be a teenage boy (or girl) or look like the cliched nerdy type; Paul had known doctors, librarians, even judges to be addicted to Marvel, or IDW. The man made the pretence of combing the racks of books, yet it was obvious that he didn't have a clue as to what he was even looking at, or for. The glances were peremptory at best, designed to mollify Paul into a false sense of security. Paul wished then that Flake still was in the store, even though he would be unable to do much of anything against such a large and imposing visitor. Just to have him there would be enough, ready to maybe chip in with secret doctor things to put the man down, if need be. 

Paul reached under the counter and laid his hand upon the baseball bat he kept therein case of troublesome customers. He slid it out noiselessly and held it pressed against his leg. The man approached the counter and stopped, hands pressed flat against the wooden surface near where Paul stood, and he couldn't have looked more intimidating if he'd tried.

"Can you speak English?" the man asked, in a distinct American accent.

Paul was no expert, but he thought that the man sounded as though he came from New York; he had that same lazy drawl that Paul had seen countless times in gangster films. Immediately, he thought of Richard, and the horrific time that he'd spent in America.

"Yeah," Paul said, in English, with a curt nod. "I can speak English, very well, as it happens."

He suddenly thought that it was a little condescending to assume that he couldn't speak English, and he felt a frisson of annoyance transfer itself from his belly to his face. 

"Awesome. Do you know a man named Richard Kruspe?" the man asked, gaze shifting around behind the counter, and behind Paul himself, as though he expected Richard to leap out of wherever Paul might be hiding him. 

Paul felt a stab of fear and alarm spiking through his body at that, but he forced his face to remain neutral and expressionless. 

"Never heard of him," Paul lied. 

"Are you certain? That curly-haired guy in that guitar making shop a few doors down said that you did," the man said.

Immediately, Paul thought of Schneider and how the man must have thought that he was helping through telling the man that Paul knew Richard. He was glad for the fact that Richard had long since left Lindemann's Luthiers, interview over for the day. Richard, Paul knew, was shopping somewhere in Berlin, buying himself new clothes and toiletries until Paul could join him for lunch. 

"He was mistaken," Paul said, sharply. "Must be someone else. Not me. Try the next shop down." 

The man grunted, and glared at Paul for a few moments more; Paul lifted his chin defiantly and did not back down. Instead, he continued staring until the man finally looked away, and walked wordlessly out of the store. Paul relaxed only when the door clanged shut behind his unwanted visitor. He couldn't shake the feeling that despite his departure, the man had known that Paul was lying; there was something in the other man's gaze that had indicated to Paul that he hadn't been fooled. It was only when, five minutes later, he thought of the exchange again, that he realised that the man had the same luminescent jewel-like eyes as Richard had.

****

Flake walked in fifteen minutes later, smelling strongly of cigarette smoke, eyes vaguely misty with his continued sleepiness. He'd complained of not being able to get enough sleep the nght before, as he was kept awake part of the night by loud noises coming from the other bedroom; he'd pointedly not glared at Paul whilst he'd complained, yet Paul knew that the glare was implied by its absence and had tried not to laugh.

"You're just jealous," he'd said at the time. 

"I have a boyfriend, thanks. What do I have to be jealous of?" Flake had shot back, pointedly enough and Paul hadn't known how to respond to that. 

Paul was brought back to the present again, by the sound of Flake speaking again; it was only as his mind sped back through the past few minutes that he realised that Flake had even spoken at all. 

"Will you listen, Paulchen? There's a man loitering outside," Flake said to Paul, with an impatient expression upon his face.

"Oh?" Paul asked, mind still a little distracted by the intimidating American man that had visited the store. "Does he tickle your pickle, or what?"

"Tickle my what? As if," Flake snorted. "No, this is a beefy guy, kind of scary looking, actually." 

"He wasn't wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, was he? And ridiculous plus-fours?" Paul asked, with a vague frown. 

"Yeah, he was actually. Have you seen him, then?" Flake asked, as he lifted surprised eyebrows in Paul's direction.

Paul nodded, before relating the tale of the American visitor to the store. 

"That's bloody creepy," Flake said, with a shudder. "D'you think he'll be back?" 

"I hope not," Paul said, in alarm. "It makes you wonder what the hell's going on lately, doesn't it? First cars following us, now creepy guys asking after Richard." 

"Maybe your new boyfriend's a criminal or something and he's on the run. He might have killed someone," Flake said, eyes wide and intrigued behind the shelter of his glasses.

"Richard? A murderer? I doubt it," Paul said, immediately.

He couldn't imagine his lover being like that, despite the fact that he still barely knew him, or even that much about him.

"How do you know? You barely know him," Flake pointed out, unconsciously repeating Paul's thoughts. 

"Instinct," Paul said, immediately, defiantly, despite the doubts that were beginning to sprout in his own mind that he wasn't wrong. 

"Instinct, my arse," Flake said. "I think you should watch yourself with that new guy of yours."

"And yet, there you were just a few days ago all but begging me to fuck the guy," Paul reminded him. "Make up your damned mind, Flake." 

Flake didn't seem to have a reasonable response to that, so Paul merely snorted and rolled his eyes at the other man. 

"Whatever, Flake. While you're trying to think of a decent come-back, I'm going to have my lunch," Paul said, a little grumpily. "You know, with Berlin's newest murderer in residence, by your reckoning." 

"Just be careful, is all I'm saying," Flake said, and there was genuine concern in his gaze at that. "I don't want to see you hurt, that's all." 

"I know, Flake, and thanks," Paul said, softly, as he stopped beside the other man and smiled at him gratefully. "I'll be fine, you'll see. And if I'm not? I can always ask Till to fuck Richard up for me." 

Flake laughed at that, despite his still ongoing and obvious worry. He nodded, however and allowed Paul to leave the store. Little did either of them know that Paul almost never made it back to Comic World, at all.

****

Flake looked up and blinked in surprise when he saw Richard entering the store in a welter of jangling bells, ten minutes later.

"Hi, Flake; where's Paul?" Richard asked, even before he'd reached the counter that shielded Flake from the general populace and customers alike.

"He's already gone to meet you," Flake said, even as Richard strained to peer past Flake into the scant part of the staff rooom that he could see from his position.

"He's not here," Richard confimed, afer a few gusting inhalations that were all too close to sniffs for Flake's liking.

He was reminded suddenly of a dog scenting its food or some new plaything, and he couldn't shake the idea that that was what Richard had been doing. He frowned, but couldn't think of a suitable quip or question to lighten the sudden dark and desperate mood that hung between them.

"I'm going to find him," Richard said, before he abruptly turned and left the store, leaving Flake a very confused man in his wake.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel oddly nervous about posting this chapter for some reason, heh.

Paul regained consciousness slowly, blinking in confusion at his unfamiliar, dingy surroundings. The last thing he remembered was walking towards Lindemann's Luthiers, excitement rippling through his body at the thought of seeing Richard again, followed by a sharp twinge in his neck, followed by blackness. He groaned, rotated his neck to relieve the stiffness within the muscles there. He licked his lips, which were as dry as his throat and his tongue and he coughed weakly, discovering a bad taste there; his limbs felt groggy and heavy, mind still teetering in the brink of unconsciousness and he couldn't shake the sudden realisation that he might have been drugged. He tried to stand, yet he found that he was bound, by wrist and by ankle, to an old and rickety wooden chair, that creaked and groaned beneath the shifting of Paul's bodyweight, yet still refused to budge or to yield him any kind of freedom at all. 

He groaned for a second time, feeling, again, the effects of an incredibly dry throat. That one croaky noise filtered through dead air, and seemed to echo queerly in the shadows surrounding him. He squinted around, hoping to determine where he was, yet he couldn't glean much from his surroundings; all that he could determine with any clarity at all, was that he was in some kind of nondescript warehouse somewhere, replete with rubbish strewing the floors and broken windows, broken walls, broken everything surrounding him on all sides. He wasn't even sure as to what the warehouse had once produced, to help him triangulate his location; all that was left was dust and memories, and the shards of broken dreams laying scattered in nondescript lumps of metal upon the floor.

Paul detected movement, from somewhere off to his left and he turned his head, awkwardly, feeling as though the neck muscles should creak and break beneath the sudden alert tension that liberally thrummed through his body. He caught movement again and saw that the American man who'd visited the store earlier in the morning was there, in the shadows yet walking towards Paul; the man was still in his ridicuous Hawaiian shirt and plus-fours, yet he looked, impossibly, even more menacing than he had earlier in the day. 

"Where's Richard Kruspe?" the man asked again, moving forward to loom over Paul.

"I told you, earlier; I don't know," Paul said, defiantly. "I don't even know who that is. "

"You're a fucking liar," the man shouted, all but spitting in Paul's face with his vehemence. "I can smell him all over you like a rash. Now where is he, or I start cutting." 

He hefted a pair of bolt-cutters in the air; Paul didn't know what he intended to do with them, but he suspected he would lose a few toes or perhaps a few fingers in the near future, if the American had anything to do with it. 

"You don't scare me," Paul said, and whilst he wasn't scared - yet - he knew he soon would be. 

He wondered what the hell was going on, why this man wanted Richard so much and whether he was the man in the car that had been shadowing Flake and himself for the past two days. 

"You should be," the man said. "If Richard's told you about me, then you definitely should be near shitting your pants." 

Paul kept silent, wondering if he was right to assume that this was one of the men that had held Richard captive whilst he was in New York. The man shifted, apparently dissatisfied with Paul's silence and lack of reaction. 

"Answer me, or you start losing fingers," the man said, as he leant down to glare ferociously at Paul at close range. 

Paul was struck, once again, by the man's luminous eyes that reminded him so much of Richard's, and he felt clearly the heat baking from his skin, something else that was remeniscent of Paul's lover. He smelt something odd on his skin, something reptilian and cold, almost snake-like and realised, only belatedly, that he'd noticed that about Richard, too. 

"You kidnapped Richard," Paul said, flatly. "In New York." 

"Awesome, now we're getting somewhere," the man drawled, as he leant away again. "So you do know him." 

That last was more a statement, than a question, and as such, Paul didn't bother to answer him. Instead, he asked something else.

"What did you do to me? In Alexa? Drug me?" he asked, chin lifting in defiance even as the first frisson of fear began unwinding deep in his belly. 

"Clever boy," the man purred. "Don't worry; the effects of the drugs I injected you with aren't lasting. I just made sure you wouldn't give me any trouble for a short while. I need you alive, at least for the time being and it's not even you I want. Not really. It's that piece of shit you let touch you that I want back." 

"What do you want from Richard, exactly?" Paul asked, stalling for time and trying to attack the situation from the other side of the wall. "And I don't really know why taking me will convince Richard to come out of the proverbial woodwork. How do you even know he'll bother?"

Paul knew that if he could try and get any kind of answers at all from the man, maybe he'd be able to help himself out of the situation somehow, or, better still, allow Richard enough time to find him; Paul knew, somehow, that Richard would try to find him, even he didn't know where Paul was. He must have realised by now that Paul was missing. 

"He's bound to come after what he considers to be his. It's what creatures like us do, assuming that Richard has marked you, and claimed you as his; I would be very surprised if he hasn't, considering I can smell him all over you, like I said," the man said, with a vicious smile. "I should think that you'll have a few nasty surprises coming to you over the next few days, if he has."

"He hasn't marked me," Paul insisted, wondering what the man was talking about.

"Oh no? Are you quite certain about that? He hasn't bitten you, at all?" the man asked, raising disbelieving eyebrows at Paul. "When you laid with him, and let him fuck you?"

Paul kept silent at that, suddenly remembering that Richard actually had bitten him during sex, and that Paul had enjoyed it. 

"He has," the man said, taking Paul's silence, that time, as agreement. "So that should go some way to explaining why I took you. You've been marked, claimed as the Alpha's mate." 

"What?" Paul asked, unable to stop that one sharp word from slipping from his mouth. 

Fear started to bubble fully in his gut, then, and all he could think about was Richard, and how much he wanted the other man there with him, to save him, if he could. Richard seemed to be the only sane thing in an insane world to Paul, right then, and he knew that he had to keep believing that Richard would come for him, somehow. 

"He hasn't told you," the man surmised with a sudden cackling laugh. "Man, you really have got some surprises coming for you over the next few days, indeed. More than I ever could have imagined. I have a feeling I should just let you go, and see how you deal with all of this shit, instead of killing you in front of Richard to fuck him up." 

"Wait a minute; just wait. Tell me something. I don't understand the word alpha," Paul said, knowing that he was babbling, yet not knowing quite what else to do to keep the man talking, and from actually killing or hurting him.

"Oh, is that lost in translation, sweetheart?" the man asked, a mocking tone entering his voice at that.

"No. I understand it, but not in a contextual sense, as it relates to Richard," Paul explained, trying to hide his own fear behind a defiantly lifted chin and an angry glare.

He wasn't sure whether the defiance or his glare were working, yet he was glad to see that the bolt-cutters were hanging loosely, and harmlessly, beside the American's side now, thankfully out of reach of Paul's tenderest parts. 

"Richard is one of us, an alpha of our kind," the man said, tilting his hand from Paul and back to himself again. "Although, I judge from your scent, that you're just a Beta; nothing more than an Alpha's mate. Weak, but necessary, in the long run and infinitely more useful than an Omega; mates keep the Alphas from going insane, unless the Alpha in question happens to be very strong. It's why we chose him, you know, in New York; Richard was the strongest human we'd come across in years. It's why I, and the other Omegas that make up my particular group of dragons, need him. We need a leader, to fight for us, and to bring us into the new age, with the humans in their rightful place, as our slaves. He worked for me, for a while, you know. As a luthier." 

Paul was surprised at both the news of Richard's former vocation and the swift, almost crazed, changes of subjects in the man's speech; Richard hadn't indicated that he'd worked as a luthier before. Then again, Paul hadn't actually asked him about his work in New York, either. Paul's mind skittered over all of the clues that had landed upon his lap thus far; whilst it was making some kind of insane sense, he still didn't know what the man was, or more importantly, what he thought he was. All his talk of Alphas and Betas led Paul to think of werewolves; he'd read enough horror comics to know that much. 

He heard a sudden noise then, as of geat flapping wings beating the air outside, before a flurry of dust and rubbish swirled through the air in merry, noisily clattering dances. Paul almost yelled out in shock when he saw what he could only describe as a huge dragon lancing through one of the holes in the broken down walls surrounding them; he'd seen one like it in one of the many fantasy books and graphic novels he'd read over the years. Something about the dragon's eyes looked oddly familiar, however, as the great winged reptile landed nearby and stared at Paul as though checking for harm perpetrated upon his body; Paul thought he saw something melancholic and lost in an odd greeny-blue gaze that was so like Richard's own. 

"I'm fine," Paul found himself yelling, even as the newly arrived dragon nosed forward, gently sniffing him, scales heated and surprisingly glass-smooth against Paul's body wherever the dragon brushed against exposed skin. 

Paul had the sudden insane urge to stroke the dragon's head, to explore the scales and caress the ridges and bumps that showed beneath the scales, to run exploratory hands over the horns that arched from the top of his head and across his stretched leather wings. He thought of countless dragons he'd obsessively read about since childhood, of Smaug in The Hobbit to the dragons who'd starred in a couple of the Pratchett novels Paul had loved, to dragons who inhabited the weyrs of the Dragonriders of Pern sequence; he felt his excitement and curiosity overlaying his fear, washing it away as though it had never quite been. The dragon, who he still thought of as Richard, surprisingly gave his face a gentle lick, tongue soft and almost tender and Paul laughed, the sound oddly joyful in what should have felt a scary moment; it almost felt as though he'd been given a reassuring kiss by the dragon. Then the Richard-dragon turned away, positioning himself between Paul and the American man, obviously guarding Paul. Although the exchange between man and dragon had taken little more than a few seconds, still it felt to Paul as though it had dragged out for longer, so much so that he'd quite forgotten about the American, in the face of his nerdy dragon-fuelled excitement. 

He still could see the American between the dragon's legs and he was surprised out of his own reverie by the sight of the American man transforming, his body bowing and misshapen as of being under great pressure, before wings started to arch from his back, ripping and rippling through torn skin and clothes and his limbs stiffened and broke and realigned into new configurations. A tail unfurled from the base of his spine, and slithered along the ground behind him and the man's cries of pain grew deeper and cycled into ferocious roars; Paul really did cry out then, shock thrumming through his body and he couldn't stop thinking of werewolves and how these new, strange beings really were the dragon equivalents of the shifting creatures he was so familiar with. 

His thoughts were broken into shattered shards, by the sight of the dragons fighting; Paul watched as they fought and bit and scratched, wings whirling and flapping and striking as they bowled this way and that and Paul found himself shouting for Richard, shouting for him to just kill the other and have done with it. Excitement thrummed through his veins, then, and he felt as though he was in a real life comic book, watching brightly coloured ink on pages strangely translated into real life. 

He watched as the dragons came to a skidding halt in front of him, the Richard-dragon distinctly on top, one sharply clawed forepaw resting and digging into the other dragon's throat. One sharp twist and a crack of bone and the other dragon was dead, neck hanging loosely and at an unnatural angle. Paul watched as who he'd quite rightly assumed to be the Richard-dragon performed the reverse of the American's transformation, until he was the more familiar, yet naked, form of Richard again.


	15. Chapter 15

Paul looked over the body of the still transformed American man that lay stretched out before him in a large and ungainly heap; the dead dragon-shifter's neck lay at an unnatural angle, luminescent eyes staring sightlessly at the far wall. Richard stood beside him, still naked, yet unashamed in Paul's presence; Richard's face, when Paul glanced his way, was grim, eyes narrowed with hatred at the dead dragon.

"It's over," Paul said, quietly.

"Not quite," Richard said, voice as grim as his eyes. "We have to get rid of the body." 

"Fuck," Paul said, in sudden alarm. "I didn't think of that. How the hell are we gonna get rid of a bloody great lump of a dragon, Reesh?" 

"I think this is where I come in useful," Richard said, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes? How so?" Paul asked, in surprise.

"I'm a fucking dragon, Paulchen. I can burn the fucker," Richard said, and the slight smile was replaced by a huge grin. 

"Why do I get the feeling that you like burning things?" Paul asked, with a sudden laugh. "And don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question." 

Richard laughed and leant in to press a swift kiss against Paul's cheek, a kiss that Paul was too slow to respond to. 

"You'd best leave the warehouse for a while, my love; you may get burnt," Richard warned him, gently.

"Can't I still watch?" Paul asked, suddenly a little disappointed. 

"You may, at a safe distance," Richard conceded, with a graceful nod in Paul's direction. 

"Super," Paul replied, before he turned to pad away from his lover.

He could hear the sounds of Richard turning back into a dragon once more, odd crackings of bone and ripping of sinew and muscle denoting each and every body-altering change; he could even hear the sounds of Richard's slightly pain-tinged screams turning into the rumblings of an adult dragon. Paul felt an odd thrill at that, that he'd actually seen something that he'd only ever read about and dreamed about; that he was actually dating a dragon was something else, something so far beyond Paul's wildest dreams that he had no words for it. He wondered then if he wasn't the world's biggest nerd for thinking that. 

He turned once he'd reached the far wall and turned, just in time to see a huge, jetting flame arching from Richard's mouth, his draconic body rearing with the force of his own flamings. Paul stood, amazed and thrilled, at the fiery pyrotechnic display his own boyfriend was putting on, barely registering the fact that the smell of burnt flesh and scales was almost overpowering in its intesity. He continued to watch, as the body of the dead shifter burned and disintegrated away into ashes, and a darkened, greasy streak upon the ground. Once Richard had stopped flaming, and had returned to his human form again, Paul deemed it safe to approach him. 

Richard, when Paul reached him, seemed ashamed, and almost unable to meet Paul's gaze, then; Paul reached out and grasped his lover's hand, fingers curling easily about Richard's and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Very handy way to dispose of bodies. You are fucking awesome, I hope you know that," Paul said, genuine awe in his tone when he spoke.

Richard huffed out a surprised laugh and he raised his gaze, pretty, luminescent eyes shining in the dim light at Paul. 

"Seriously?" he asked, and he sounded as though he wanted to believe it. 

"You're a fucking flame-throwing dragon, Reesh. I don't know what could be more awesome than that," Paul said, with a joyful laugh. "Who would have thought it?"

"You've been reading too many comic books, Paulchen," Richard pointed out, with a teasing expression on his face.

"Guilty as charged, and there's nothing wrong with that, just so you know," Paul laughed back. "I think you might owe me some explanations, though, Reesh. I hope you know that, as well." 

The only response that Richard gave him was to nod, a little sheepishly.

****

"So are you gonna tell me what the hell's happening?" Paul asked Richard, once they had finally returned to Paul's flat.

They'd had a bit of a crazy ride whilst returning, due to the fact that Richard still had been naked; luckily for the dragon-shifter, however, it had transpired that they hadn't been that far from where Paul had parked his car near to the Alexa. Paul had made his way alone through the streets that seperated the warehouse from his car, via a combination of walking and the tram and, once he'd returned, he'd managed to park it near enough to the warehouse so that Richard could dash inside it before his nakedness could be observed by the populace of Berlin. Paul had then retreated inside their flat once safely parked outside the appropriate building, to fetch a long coat of his that was a little too large for him, before carrying it to Richard to drape over his body awkwardly whilst still in the car. They'd then both sauntered to the flat where Richard had made himself decent with a new set of clothes and the couple now were sitting in the kitchen, hands wrapped around the comfortingly warm surfaces of two coffee mugs. 

"So. Yes. I guess you know by now that I'm a dragon in my spare time," Richard said, with a smile that was more forced and wary than natural.

"Yeah, so I saw," Paul said, uncertain as to what else he should even say. "So ... what do I call you, Reesh? I mean, exactly? You're a were-dragon or something?"

"Something like that, but I prefer dragon-shifter, actually," Richard said, with a sudden snorting laugh that fanned the steam that rose out of his coffee mug. "I dunno why. I just think it sound less dorky and childish than were-dragon. More masculine, y'know?" 

Paul suddenly laughed at that and Richard's hesitant expression softened and bled out into a more genuine and relieved smile. He even dared to reach out with one hand, fingers hesitating near to Paul's and Paul closed the distance between them, to wrap his fingers around Richard's own. Richard's relieved exhalation was loud and palpable between them, as though he'd expected Paul to reject him at the last. Paul felt a little saddened by that, that Richard should think so little of himself that he expected hatred, rejection, even fear; Paul himself was merely fascinated by his recent discovery about his lover, yet more in an interested, curious way than merely morbid. Even so, he still wondered why he wasn't scared or disgusted, and the only answer he could truly give himself was his own innate curiosity and the need for adventure to take away the empty bored nothingness of his life before Richard. 

"Dorky. Masculine," Paul said, between laughs. "And here I was, worried that I wasn't freaking out enough; in fact, I felt stupid because I thought it was bloody cool and even exciting." 

"You do?" Richard asked, and he sounded genuinely surprised at that. 

"Yeah. Come on, Reesh, I work in a comic book store; I must have read so many fantasy novels and comic books from cover to cover and back again, all the while dreaming of being in an adventure just like all those that I've devoured over the years, and now, look at me. Here I am," Paul said, as he spread his arms out wide by his sides, inadvertently lifting Richard's hand with his as he moved. "Fucking-a, my boyfriend's a bloody dragon, of all things. How much cooler can you get than actually dating a fucking dragon?" 

Richard tilted his head back and began to laugh, great hooting exhalations that spoke of relief as much as they did of amusement. Paul couldn't help but join in, squeezing Richard's hand gently, reassuringly within the confines of his own. Richard leant in, still laughing, and pressed heated kisses against Paul's mouth, all of which Paul was only too happy to return. Paul still was grinning by the time that the kiss ended, and Richard returned it, laughter lines cutting fine lines from the corners of his eyes, as he did so.

"Now I know why your eyes are so different," Paul said, as he stared at Richard's luminescent, jewel-like eyes. "You have dragon eyes." 

Richard grimaced, as though he thought that perhaps Paul thought his eyes unnattractive, even undesirable.

"No! They're beautiful, Reesh; just like you, in both forms," Paul said, vehemently, with a grin that spread to Richard's face. "So, you can breathe fire. I guess that explains why you're so hot to the touch, then. You're hot and packing fire. Literally." 

Richard chuckled and ran his fingers over his nipples coquettishly, pouting stupidly for Paul's benefit; Paul laughed, and batted Richard's hands away from his chest. 

"You knew what I meant, you bastard, but if it soothes your ego, I find you hot in the sexy sense, too," he said, with a groan, when Richard's saucy pout turned mock-offended and churlish.

"That's better," Richard murmured, as he leant in again to press a soft kiss against Paul's mouth. "I think you're hot in the sexy sense, too." 

Paul returned the kiss, pressed in and tried to tell Richard with his lips and his tongue how much he still loved him, how much he wanted him still. Then Paul drew away and stared at Richard with large and scared eyes, as a sudden thought and memory of the American man's words earlier in the day returned to him and turned his blood to ice-water in his veins.

"You bit me the other night, Reesh," he said. "You know, dragon bites had better not work anything like werewolf bites." 

"Yeah, I think it's safe to say that you're a dragon-shifter, too, now," Richard said, softly. "It seems rather ridiculous and inadequate to say this, but I'm sorry. I couldn't help it; I wanted you too much, wanted you like me. That was selfish." 

"I dunno, maybe not. So that's what that American guy was on about; he said something about having a few surprises in store for me," Paul said, sobering. "I'm really going to change, aren't I?" 

Richard nodded, but he didn't say anything; instead, he continued staring at Paul, as though gauging him for reactions, scared explosions, anything except the calm nod that Paul gave him. His eyebrows lifted, his lips pursed, yet still, he said nothing.

"So," Paul said, as he lifted both hands up from the surface of the table. "I'm a dragon. It can't be all that bad, right? You've lived with it for - how long now?" 

"Six months," Richard replied, soberly. 

"Right, and you're still here. Like I said, it can't be that bad," Paul repeated, bravely. "Now I can be like a hero in a comic book, too. Super. It's not like I can change anything now, right? Too late to cry over spilled milk and all that fantastic jazz. You'll help me. I hope." 

Richard laughed at that and stroked soothing fingers against the back of Paul's hand, thumbs tracing heated lines over the ridges of Paul's knuckles. 

"Of course I will, if you want me to," Richard said, and there was that hesitation in his eyes again as though he still expected Paul to reject him.

"I think I'm gonna need you to help, as much as want you to. You know what else that American guy said?" Paul asked, changing the subject slightly.

He waited for Richard to shake his head, and stare at him attentively, before continuing, 

"He said something about you being an Alpha and that you'd claimed me, that you would have gone mad if you hadn't taken a Beta as mate. What the hell does that mean, exactly?" Paul asked, curiously. 

"That means I'm an Alpha dragon, one of the strongest dragons possible in our world. A leader, if you like," Richard replied, softly. "And because I chose you as my mate, you're kind of ... in the shit actually. More even than I thought." 

"I still don't really quite know what that means," Paul asked, blinking. 

"Betas are always meant to be the mates of Alphas, at least in the dragon-shifter world, or so I could gather from all I've been told," Richard said. "You can use boyfriend, if you prefer that term, as it sort of means the same thing. Being mated goes deeper though. From all I can feel right now, it's more beautiful than a mere partnership." 

"Sounds nice. So what now? Am I supposed to like .. bear dragon babies now or something? Because hallo, not anatomically possible," Paul said,as he gestured down at his own body, yet he still was smiling, slightly.

"I don't think it works like that," Richard said, despite his own laughter. "Although I can't say I'm the expert. You're the only guy I've slept with since my change. You're the only guy I've ever truly wanted, actually. I just had to have you, and I couldn't stand the thought of someone else having you. I don't mean that to sound quite as possessive as it probably came out, by the way."

"I didn't take it that way, don't worry. Shit, this is getting more confusing by the minute," Paul said, as he scrubbed exploratory fingers over his eyes with a great and huffing sigh. "So, when you're saying we're mated, does that mean for life or just until we get sick of each other or something? Not that I'm wishing that on our heads, but you know what I mean. Or at least, I hope you do." 

Richard huffed out a soft laugh at that, and Paul was glad to see that the other man's amusement reached his eyes, causing slight wrinkles to fan out from the corners of them; it seemed as though Richard hadn't taken offence at Paul's question. 

"I know what you mean," Richard finally replied, softly. "And I suppose that's all down to us to decide, if that ever happens. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."

"So do I, but it's still good to know I have some choice in this," Paul observed, softly. 

"You weren't objecting last night," Richard reminded him, just as softly. "Or the couple of nights before that."

"Yeah, but I didn't know the ramifications, then," Paul pointed out, not unkindly. "I just thought you were a man, then, not a bloody Alpha dragon." 

"Ramifications, Paul," Richard said, as a grin tugged his corners of his mouth.

Paul laughed at that, and laughed harder when Richard pressed kisses against the knuckles of one hand, a more demonstrative way of apologising than mere words would have been. 

"You knew what I meant," Paul chided, gently. "Then again, I didn't know I was a Beta dragon, either, or would be one. I still don't quite know what this means for us."

"Neither do I, or at least I don't fully," Richard said, before he smiled. "Don't forget, I've only been living this life for six months. From all that I can determine, the Alpha - Beta - Omega thing just refers to ranks in our society. Just think of it like ranks in the army or something. Alphas are the supreme commanders, the Betas are our second in command and mates, and the Omegas are the lowly soldier types. The ones who risk their necks for us, if you like."

He gestured towards Paul and then himself, and Paul had to laugh. The more he thought about what had happened, and his new life, the more he started to like it. 

"This is getting kinda cool. So are we like vampires? Do we live forever?" Paul asked. 

"I don't know," Richard said, and he looked troubled. "I don't know any other dragon-shifters; not now, at any rate. The ones I did know, the ones who changed me, I ran away from, remember?" 

"Yeah," Paul said, and his mood changed into a sombre one again. "The guy who took me this morning was one of them, wasn't he? He said you used to work for him, in New York. I didn't know you were a luthier, Reesh." 

"I should have said, I suppose, but it never came up. Too closely related to all that shit I went through in New York," Richard said, with a sigh. 

"And that's what you were having nightmares about? When they changed you?" Paul asked, as he reached for Richard again and stroked his fingers soothingly against the other man's hand. "You didn't really tell me all that happened in New York, or in your dreams." 

"I tried, didn't I?" Richard asked, harshly. "The bloody pizza delivery man interrupted us and the moment was gone." 

"Yeah, I suppose," Paul said, as he thought back over the talk he'd shared with Richard the previous weekend. "There's no easy way to say - 'Honey, I'm a dragon', though, anyway, is there?" 

Richard huffed out a laugh at that and shook his head. 

"I thought I'd have more time to tell you that shit," Richard admitted, regretfully. "Hopefully before you changed, but Mark, the guy who took you today, changed all that. I didn't think he'd find me so quickly." 

"He said that they wanted you back," Paul said. "And he also said something about wanting to subjugate humans, to treat them as slaves." 

He had to stop short, at the sudden realisation that he'd already started to put a divide between himself and humans, that seemingly he'd started to accept his new role in life now. Richard didn't seem to notice. 

"Yeah, they said something about that when they took me; they wanted to start a war between the dragons and the humans," he said. "Like I said, I worked for Mark as a luthier; that's how he knew me, and decided, apparantly, I'd make a strong leader for the New York 'Shifters. I suppose he knew I wouldn't choose to be a part of it, especially if humans were going to be harmed, so he forced me, changed me against my will. He drugged me and beat me and kept me prisoner and did all manner of shit to me to keep me in line, but it only convinced me further that I didn't want it; I didn't want the responsibility of leadership, or the responsibility of hurting people. Any of it. So I ran. I tried trekking across America, but they kept finding me. I thought I'd be safe here, in Berlin. I'm in a different country, and a different continent, even, but I was wrong. And now, I've dragged you into it." 

Paul squeezed Richard's hand gently again, and sighed.

"Well, at least you're not alone, now," Paul pointed out. "I can help." 

"Yeah," Richard said, quietly. "But would you have chosen this life, if you'd known?"

"Known about what was happening?" Paul asked, and waited for Richard's nod before he continued. "Of course. I would have done it for love of you." 

Richard did little more than blink at him for a few moments, before a slow and beautiful grin began to spread its way across his face at Paul's words.

"Would you?" he asked. "Seriously?"

"Of course," Paul laughed. "It would have been nice to have been forewarned about this shit, but I suppose the outcome would have been the same, at the end of the day. It no longer matters." 

Richard leant across and kissed Paul then, and Paul felt the beginnings of a connection forming between them, beautiful and strong and tying their two selves together. He kissed Richard harder, then, before easing away, to breathe again, to recover, and to take a sip of coffee. 

"Both you and this guy this morning said that there were more dragons in New York. Just how many are there?" Paul asked, musingly. 

"I don't know. I only saw about twenty in New York," Richard replied.

"Only twenty? Bloody hell, Reesh; that's a lot," Paul pointed out, spluttering upon his coffee in his surprise. 

"Maybe, but when you consider there must be more across the world, then it doesn't seem so very many," Richard pointed out calmly. 

"And out of those twenty, how many were Betas or Omegas or whatever? I'm guessing there were no Alphas," Paul said.

"No, not really. The ones that had been a part of their group had long since been killed off. Alphas can't stand one another. They have to fight, often to the death, or they leave, and start their own groups; there can only be one Alpha per group of Shifters. Plus some were discovered by the humans and were experimented on. You know how humans like to dissect and experiment upon all that's different," Richard said, gloomily.

Paul didn't say anything, too shaken by all that Richard was saying to form words, Then he swallowed, mind sifting through all of the new information he'd been given, and arriving at something that hadn't been mentioned yet.

"And what of the rest of the New York Shifters? What happens to them if they discover that this Mark guy's dead? Won't they come and find us?" Paul asked.

"Hopefully not, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Richard said. "I'm sure one or other of the stronger Betas will take over in the meantime, until another Alpha comes along. Then it's all down to what that Alpha wants to do. They can't all want the same things." 

"Doubtful," Paul said, as he thought of how gentle, and how uncertain Richard seemed when compared with the more brash and war-like Mark of earlier in the day. "So, it's safe to say there are other dragon-shifters in Berlin, then?"

"Maybe, but I don't know, yet. I haven't found any evidence of any yet, but they may be well-hidden," Richard said. "Then again, I haven't been here long enough to bother looking. I only found you because I was specifically looking for you." 

"That makes sense. In that case, I suppose you were the flying reptile that was in the news lately," Paul said, after a brief silence. "Schneider said something about it the other day, that a bunch of kids and old biddies saw a dragon flying over the Tiergarten." 

"Yeah, I guess that was me, and that was a fucking mistake; I'm usually more careful than that to reveal myself like that. I'm the only dragon here, now, though, apart from you, and you haven't changed yet. The only other dragon in Berlin's dead, but you saw that happening," Richard nodded, before he fell silent.

Paul nodded, but didn't speak immediately; instead, he watched the hand upon the clock sweeping out the seconds for a while, before finally, he spoke.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, with a small and almost helpless shrug.

"We'll get through this together; we have the time," Richard replied, as he smiled into Paul's face. "I'll help you change, when that happens. It'll hurt, the first time, but that's normal. At least, I found that it hurt the first time."

"That's what they all say," Paul murmured, before he smiled facetiously at Richard. "And are we ruled by the moon like werewolves? I'd say not, considering all that happened today; as far as I can remember it, it wasn't a full moon, last night." 

"No, we can change at will," Richard confirmed. "We're better than werewolves, in that regard." 

"Well, and dragons are just naturally cooler, too," Paul countered, which made Richard smile. 

Paul returned the smile, before he huffed out a small laugh when a sudden thought occured to him. 

"How did you even know where I was, earlier, anyway?" Paul asked. 

"I smelt you," Richard admitted, with some embarrassment.

"Fuck you, I don't smell," Paul objected, immediately.

"Ah, but you do, to me," Richard pointed out, with an amused laugh at his lover's reaction. "And it's not a bad smell, before you start worrying; you smell like soap and cologne and comic books and you. Dragon-shifters have a very acute sense of smell; it's one of the many perks, but we'll go through all that as we go along. Anyway, this morning, I followed your scent through Berlin until I found you. I could smell your fear and your anger and you. I think I arrived just in time." 

"I'd say you did. Thanks for coming to my rescue, earlier, by the way," Paul said. "I thought the prince was supposed to rescue the princess from the dragon, not the dragon doing the rescuing." 

"Usually," Richard agreed, with a sage nod. "But you could also say that I'm both dragon and prince, in this case, I suppose. Do you really see yourself as a princess, by the way, Paul?"

Paul laughed at that, realising, too late, what he had just implied.

"Not usually, but perhaps in this case, it's apt," he said, laughter warming his tone as much as it did his expression, and his gaze.

"Princess Paulchen," Richard said, with a slow grin at Paul as Paul began to laugh. "I dunno, Paul; it's got a cute ring to it. I like it." 

"For fuck's sake, don't tell Flake about that. I'll never hear the end of it," Paul said, with a grimace. 

At the mention of Flake, Paul suddenly started up fom his seat with a wild cry.

"Flake's still in the shop," he said. "He'll be bloody cursing me and threatening to quit, if I don't go back. He hates working alone." 

"He'll understand, once he hears what happened to you. I guess it is about time you went back, anyway," Richard said, reluctantly. "But Paul? I would appreciate if you didn't tell Flake what we are, if you don't mind. It's not that I don't trust him, but I don't think he'd believe it, or understand. I want you to be the only one who does know." 

"I can understand that," Paul said, with a nod of understanding. "It's not your usual confession, is it? 'By the way, I'm a gay Alpha dragon-shifter and Paul's my mate.' Okay, so he knows we're gay and is cool with it, as he's gay himself, but the rest of it doesn't quite sit right, does it? Don't worry, I won't say anything, darling. I won't be much of a mate, if I couldn't respect your wishes." 

"Thanks, my love," Richard said, as he leant into Paul's body heat, when Paul stopped beside him to press a kiss against his forehead. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"That I was kidnapped, and you saved me, of course," Paul said, with a grin. "It is what happened, after all. I just won't say anything about dragons. He'll think I've cracked up under the stress, anyway." 

Richard laughed at that, and rested one hand upon Paul's butt gently. 

"Thank you," he said, quietly, even as he squeezed Paul's butt, affectionately. "Anyway, Princess Paulchen, you'd best get yourself back to Comic World, or Flake will be calling the police at the very least." 

Paul nodded, and laughed at Richard's use of his seemingly newly acquired nickname. He still was laughing by the time that he made his way through the front door, to head back to the comic book store, once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that Paul has referred to himself as a 'nerd' on more than one occasion throughout this story so far; I'm probably worrying about nothing, but I'd just like to point out that I use (and mean) this term quite affectionately. I refer to _myself_ as a nerd for the same reasons as Paul uses the term (I read comic books, fantasy, love dragons and Star Trek u.s.w. I'd also be the person who'd become incredibly excited over a sighting of an 'actual' dragon .... and also be the first person to die, knowing my bloody luck, haha!). I'm proud to be a nerd, hehe. Just thought that that needed a mention, y'know. ;D


	16. Chapter 16

Flake was understandably upset by Paul's late return to the store, yet his annoyance was obliterated once he'd heard what had happened to Paul in the warehouse. Paul felt a little guilty over not mentioning the fact that Richard was a dragon-shifter, and that he was now one himself, but he knew that he couldn't go back on the promise that he'd made to Richard to keep his silence about their true identity; that he couldn't have just lied and said he'd missed the train was something he'd considered and rejected. With the time spent both unconscious from being drugged and at the warehouse, and the time also spent with Richard, any lie he would have told would not have held up to any amount of scrutiny; Paul figured that he must have been gone for almost two hours and Flake would have guessed, that Richard and Paul would have remained in the vicinity of the Alexa for lunch, anyway. He didn't need to complicate things unnecessarily, even with a white lie, that he undoubtedly would have forgotten he'd told, over time.

"We need to report that fucker who took you," Flake said, as he stood and reached for the phone. "Immediately."

"No, Flake, there's no need," Paul said, as he reached out to grab Flake's wrist, preventing his hand from completing its journey to the phone. "It's been taken care of."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Flake asked, as he narrowed suspicious eyes at Paul. "You've said that once already. I have no context for that." 

"It means that Richard has taken care of it," Paul said tightly and pointedly said no more.

"He killed him, didn't he? See? I fucking told you he was a murderer," Flake said, angrily, as he turned a righteous expression onto Paul.

"Richard isn't a murderer; at least, not in this case. It was self defence, or rather he was defending me," Paul said, just as angrily, almost squaring up to the other man. "If Richard hadn't done something, then I would be dead, now. Would you want that to have happened?" 

Flake subsided, with a defiant shake of his head, but it seemed as though he had more to say on the subject; with an effort, and aided by Paul's sudden ferocious glare, he swallowed and kept his silence. Paul was glad that his friend had backed down, yet still he impaled Flake with a ferocious, albeit silent, glare.

"How did he find you, anyway?" Flake asked, suspiciously. "I wouldn't have known to look for you in a bloody warehouse, so how the hell did Richard know?"

"Sheer luck," Paul said, after a brief pause. "And experience, I suppose."

He didn't want to tell Flake that Richard had sniffed Paul down with his dragon-senses, after all. 

"Of what? Don't tell me he was in league with that fucker," Flake said, in anger. 

"Don't be stupid. I don't know how much I can tell you, because this is more Richard's business, and mine by proxy I suppose, but let's just say that what happened to me today, happened to Richard too, before. I suppose it was process of elimination," Paul said. "And please don't ask me to say anything more on that. I shouldn't have said that much at all. If Richard wants to tell you, he will. And don't go fucking telling him I said as much as I did." 

"Okay, bloody vehement, much. You really love him, don't you?" Flake asked, and the grin that he suddenly turned on to Paul was amused, and more like his usual self. 

"Of course I do," Paul said, in surprise. "Stupid question." 

"Well, you are defending him like you love the ever-living fuck out of him," Flake said, with a snort, even as he turned partially away. "Well, all right, I won't say anything, and I'm glad you're all right, as well." 

Paul merely grunted in response, even as he silently wondered why Flake seemed to suddenly seemed to find the thought disgusting that Paul was in love with Richard.

****

The next morning, Paul awoke to a fever burning through his veins, sweat peppering his skin and across his forehead and entire body. Richard stirred beside him, when Paul moaned loudly, and Richard's eyes were sleepy as he cracked them open to stare at Paul. When Richard saw the state that his lover was in, he sat up, hand pressed firmly against Paul's forehead.

"Fuck. It's starting," he said, as he started to hustle out of bed, with a flurry of panicked movements. "I thought we'd have more time than that." 

"What?" Paul asked, as he reached out to snag one hand against Richard's wrist, frightened that the other man would leave the room entirely, when Richard moved almost completely away from the bed. 

"The change. You're changing," Richard explained, his voice as panicked as his movements suddenly were. "I need to get you somewhere safe. You can't change here. Not enough room, for a start. Your wings are gonna be bloody big, Paul." 

"Fuck, it's horrible," Paul said, and he felt as though a fire was trying to burn its way out of his body through his guts.

"Only the first time, darling," Richard said, soothingly, as he helped Paul to sit up in bed. "It gets easier, I can promise you that. It did for me. I need to tell Flake to open your shop. Where's your key? I'll tell him you're not well." 

"Back pocket of my trousers," Paul said, as he gestured towards the trousers he'd been wearing the day before.

Richard nodded and eased the keys from the appropriate pocket, before he left the room. Despite the burning agony that twisted its way through his body, Paul was glad for the fact that the other man had the foresight to pull on trousers of his own, before he went to see Flake. He didn't want to know what Flake's reaction would have been if Richard had appeared before him, sans clothing. It didn't take long for Richard to return, with Flake in alarmed tow. 

"Jesus," Flake said, once he saw the sweating state that Paul was in. "He needs a hospital. I don't know what I can do against something like this." 

"No hospital," Richard said, sharply. "There's nothing they can do. I'm the only one who can help Paul, now." 

"Like hell you can. What the fuck can you do?" Flake asked, as he turned an outraged glare upon Richard. "Last I knew, you're not a doctor." 

"I know some things, at least about what's happening to Paul," Richard said, tightly. "But that's between me and him."

"You've not passed anything on to him, have you?" Flake asked, in suspicious disgust. "Like diseases of any kind?"

"No, I don't have any diseases; I'm clean and no, I'm not going into details about how I know," Richard said, before he stared pointedly at Flake. "Haven't you got somewhere else to be? Namely, work?" 

Flake shook his head and turned to leave the room in a welter of curses and almost threats to tear Richard's head from his body if he harmed his friend, in any way. 

"I've known Paul longer than you, don't forget," Flake said, just before he began to winnow through the open bedroom door.

"Yeah, but you don't love him, like I do," Richard threw at Flake's back.

Flake didn't seem to hear, or if he had, he certainly didn't react to Richard's shouted confession. Paul, however, blinked up at Richard through a haze of heat and pain, and he smiled; Richard didn't seem to have noticed what he'd said, or if he had, had long since come to terms with the admission.

"You love me?" Paul asked, pleasure almost washing the pain away, as Richard helped him from the bed.

It was the first time that Richard had ever said that he loved Paul, and the moment was not lost on Paul himself.

"Of course I love you, you geat lump. Now, get dressed, Paul, please. I haven't got much time left to help you," Richard said, as he gently eased Paul from the bed and manouvred Paul over to his wardrobe.

Paul wanted to say more, yet at Richard's warning look, left it. He wasn't sure what else to say on the subject anyway, except a few little words, murmured, as Richard bundled him into the car a few minutes later.

"I love you, too, Reesh," Paul said.

"I know, darling," Richard said, with an all too brief smile, as he pressed one final kiss to Paul's over-heated cheek.

****

The drive to the Tiergarten seemed to take longer than it should have done, yet Richard managed it in the end, winding the car through the traffic and parking as close to the park as he could. He helped Paul from the passenger seat and helped him into the Tiergarten, and on into a stand of trees where they could be shielded from general view.

"Whatever you do, don't try and fight it, no matter how much it hurts. It's what I did when I first changed, and it was hell," Richard said, as he soothed his hands over Paul's shoulders and upper arms. "Okay, darling? Please try and relax." 

Paul didn't get the chance to ask for more details, or even to make any kind of response to his lover at all, for a sudden pain ripped through his back and he bent over, cursing, sweating, drooling as pain, after pain, after agony ripped through his body. He tried to take Richard's advice and tried to relax and not to fight the pain, yet it was harder to do than imagined, when every bone in his body, every muscle, stretched and broke and realigned into unnatural shapes for a human. At times, he felt as though his body was being ripped entirely in two, and he screamed, but even through it all, he could feel Richard's hands upon him, soothing him with gentle caresses, and the other man's voice coaxing him through it, encouraging him to calm down. Paul's yells soon dminished into whimpers when the pain became too much, and became greater still when he felt as though his back was being split asunder, as two great wings broke through his skin to flap wildly, untamed, behind him. 

Eventually, the agony was over, and Paul was left standing, much taller than he had been whilst human, with wings dragging heavily at his back. He slumped against the ground, staring up at Richard, as his lover removed his clothing and changed into his dragon self, more smoothly and quietly than Paul had done. Paul almost smiled, and would have done if he'd still been in his human form, as Richard curled around his prostrate form, protecting him and warming him by turns, as well as giving comfort, as he nuzzled against Paul's newly scaled face. Richard's tongue lapped out and stroked against Paul's cheek, and Paul huffed, eyes closing as he leant into his lover's body, calmed by Richard's loving presence and tender ministrations. 

Paul rested for a while, and even managed to doze for a few moments; when he awoke again, it was to find that he'd shifted back to his human form again, and that Richard was covering him with the remnants of his clothing. Richard was also fully dressed, having brought along a bag of clothing for them both to wear after their change. Paul smiled dozily up at him, amazed to find that he felt a little better, that his fever of earlier in the morning had gone. 

"Are you all right?" Richard asked, as he ran his hands over Paul's body to check for broken limbs, for abrasions, for any kind of harm at all. 

"I feel like I've been ran over by a train three times over but other than that I'm all right. Thank you, Reesh," Paul said, with a laugh. "The fever's broken, as well." 

"Good; it will get easier now over time, with practice and patience," Richard said, before he crouched beside Paul, and ran fingers over the lines of the other man's back, where wings had so recently sprouted. "You know, you're so beautiful in your dragon form. D'you know that you're a gorgeous shade of midnight blue?" 

"Really? Oh; I guess I didn't have the time to look. I was too busy being broken in several thousand places," Paul murmured, in surprise. "You probably know, but you're a deep forest green. You are really gorgeous, by the way." 

Richard huffed and pressed a snuffling kiss against Paul's forehead. Paul leant into the kiss with a smile, eyes closing mere moments before his stomach growled loudly and broke the peaceful tenderness of the moment. Richard leant away in surprise, before he patted the bare slope of Paul's stomach with a laugh. 

"Shush," Richard said, in admonishment. "I'm having a quiet moment with my mated one." 

Paul laughed, and struggled up into a sitting position, Richard's hands supporting his aching frame as he did so.

"Well, I dunno about you, but I'm bloody hungry," Paul said, with a sigh, as he stared around the trees that surrounded them.

"I could do with a bite to eat, as it happens. Come on, then, Paulchen, get dressed and I'll buy you breakfast. Don't be surprised if you eat a lot," Richard said, as he began to pull Paul's replacement clothes out of the bag. "I did the first time. "

Paul nodded and stood, feeling a little ridiculous for standing naked in the middle of Tiergarten with nothing on, despite the fact that he was effectively shielded from view by trees and thick bushes. He pulled on his clothing, before he walked out from the trees, with Richard's arm wrapped securely around his waist.

****

"So, are my eyes anything like yours, now?" Paul asked, as he crammed a great forkful of hash browns into his mouth. "Do I have pretty dragon-eyes?"

They'd settled themselves into a small and homely cafe, and already were on their second plate of highly fried foods, and their third cup of coffee. Richard hadn't been joking when he'd told Paul that he'd need more food than usual; Paul felt as though he could eat the proverbial horse, he was so hungry, despite the amount of food he'd already crammed into his mouth. 

"Yeah, actually," Richard said, with a smile, as he stared into Paul's eyes. "They're a beautiful shade of blue, like sapphires, or something." 

He shrugged and seemed suddenly embarrassed over being potentially too over-sentimental. Paul merely smiled from around his bulging mouthful of food, before he laid one hand silently upon Richard's. Richard smiled, cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"I need some more coffee. Want some?" he asked, even as he crammed a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. 

"Yeah, wouldn't mind, actually," Paul agreed, and watched as Richard wandered away to get two more refills for them both.

When Richard returned, he sat down with a sigh of relief and pushed Paul's refilled mug towards him, in a cloud of fragrant steam. 

"You still haven't told me what happened at your interview with Till yesterday, by the way, Reesh," Paul said, as though his whole kidnapping ordeal had been but a blip in the road in the grand scheme of things. 

"Well, I haven't exactly had a chance to tell you, yet, love," Richard reminded him, with a snort. "And I think it went well; obviously, I won't know the result until he's interviewed everyone else. Till's pretty cool. Did you know he likes poetry?"

"Poetry?" Paul asked, in surprise. "I didn't know that, to be honest. Flake's never said, at any rate. I never would have thought that of Till. He doesn't look the type." 

"He doesn't. Then again, the most intimidating types of guys usually are the gentlest," Richard said. "Not that I would know first hand. Not my type." 

"What is your type, then?" Paul asked, cheekily.

"Like you really need to ask? I'm going out with you, aren't I?" Richard asked, with a disbelieving stare at Paul.

Paul's only response was to laugh at him. Richard's glare turned into a laugh of his own, before he reached out to lift Paul's hand from the table to kiss Paul's knuckles. 

"You're a silly dragonet, sometimes, Paul, but I do love you," Richard murmured, as he kissed the inside of Paul's wrist. 

Paul shuddered in sudden pleasure, and tried to tamp his arousal down; after all, they still were in a public place. Instead, his mind wound back to almost an hour before, when his body had shifted from one form to another, and back again.

"I wonder if anybody heard me changing, earlier," he said, suddenly. "I made a hell of a noise." 

"I don't know; I made more noise when I changed," Richard said, with a shrug, and even though he stopped kissing Paul's wrist, he didn't relinquish his hold upon his hand. 

Instead, he continued holding it, thumb rubbing tenderly, comfortingly, against Paul's kuckles; Paul watched as Richard returned to his meal, and another forkful of fried potato disappeared between Richard's lips.

"They probably thought it was the animals creating a ruckus, if anyone did hear," Richard assured him, with a smile, when his mouthful had been swallowed. "It's why I took you to the Tiergarten."

"You really do think of everything, don't you?" Paul asked, with an affectionate, yet teasing, laugh.

"I'm an Alpha dragon, love. Of course I think of everything," Richard said, just as teasingly. "Anyway, have you finished? I fancy going for a walk and then taking you back to the flat and fucking you senseless." 

"Okay," Paul said, as he hastily forked the remainder of his meal into his mouth. "Let me just finish my coffee." 

Richard nodded, awkwardly, over the rim of his own mug, as he swallowed his drink down the dregs. Paul finished his own coffee in record time, and stood with a satisfied sigh, as Richard went to pay for their meal. Their walk took them through the Tiergarten again, yet they didn't talk much; instead, they walked hand in hand, in companionable silence, watching as people passed by them, oblivious to the fact that two dragons walked in their midst.

****

That evening, when Flake returned to the flat from his day alone at Comic World, he stopped in only long enough to return the keys to the shop to Paul and to check up on his health. After he was satisfied that Paul's fever of the morning had seemingly broken, he was out of the door again, after changing, to go on a date with Till. He didn't return that night, leaving Richard and Paul with the run of the flat, where they made love long into the night undisturbed. 


	17. Chapter 17

"Till asked me to move in with him, last night, Paulchen," Flake said the following morning, over breakfast, as the sun streamed through the kitchen windows to lance over the table where Flake sat with Paul. 

"Did he, really? That's great," Paul said, with a surprised, but happy, grin at his closest friend, after he'd first swallowed his mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

"Is it? I don't know whether it is or not," Flake said, morosely.

"Why the hell wouldn't it be great?" Paul asked, in surprise, as he lowered his toast to stare at Flake. "He's your boyfriend, Flake. It'll look weird if you carry on living with me, and not the guy that you're supposed to be, you know, actually dating." 

"I know, but it seems so permenant, doesnt it?" Flake asked, with a grimace. "It's a hell of a commitment." 

"I agree, but you've been dating for bloody ages; over a year, I think. That, in itself, is one hell of a commitment, and Till's obviously really serious about you, to even ask," Paul told him. "He must be ready to settle down with you." 

"Yeah," Flake said, and he sounded as though he hadn't thought of that, himself. "Maybe I'll accept."

"I really think you should, you know," Paul advised. "And no, it's not like I'm trying to get rid of you or anything, before you start." 

"Good," Flake replied, and Paul was glad to note that at least he laughed at that. "That's nice to know. I thought I'd run it by you first, just to make sure you were okay with it. I knew your response would also help me make up my mind." 

"I am okay with it," Paul said, with a confused frown at his friend. "Why wouldn't I be? You have your own life to lead, as have I. We have to look after own happiness, after all. It's not like we're gonna magically stop being friends, or that you're gonna stop working with me or anything. You're not, are you?"

For one brief moment, Paul considered the terrible thought that Flake might leave Comic World, leaving him short-staffed and stressed out. 

"No. Definitely not. I still need money," Flake said, before a sudden smile quirked over his lips. "I suppose I still need friends, as well." 

"Well, don't sound too enthusiastic, will you?" Paul asked, a teasing note warming his voice.

Flake laughed companionably, before he nodded over at Richard, just emerging from the bathroom. 

"Will he be staying when I go?" he asked, as he watched the oblivious Richard wandering through to the kitchen to collect his own breakfast warming on the hob. 

"Of course, if he agrees," Paul said, not wanting to point out that Flake had just said 'when' and not 'if' in regards to his own decision.

"What?" Richard asked, as he settled beside Paul, after first giving Paul a lingering, yet still surprisingly tender kiss. "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about me?" 

"It's because we are," Flake said, without preamble. "I'm moving out." 

"Oh? That's a bit sudden. It's not because of me, is it?" Richard asked, pausing only briefly before shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, with great, and obvious, enjoyment.

"No," Flake said, as he shook his head in disgust over Richard's eating habits. "Till asked me to move in with him, last night." 

"Oh? Good. Congratulations?" Richard asked, uncertainly and there was an air of awkwardness about him at that. 

"Thanks," Flake said, nodding despite the obvious awkwardness clinging to the other man's body. 

"When will you be going, anyway, Flake? When are you expecting to move out, I should say," Paul asked, with a slight and embarrassed grimace at his own slip-up and perceived slight. 

"I dunno. By the end of the week, I should imagine," Flake replied, with a shrug. "It's not as though it's effective immediately or anything. I still have to finalise things with Till, and also pack my things, after all." 

"Hmm," Richard said, before he crammed another forkful into his mouth, with a faint sound of appreciation.

Paul looked upon Richard with a faint smile and caught the amused glance that Richard threw his way in return.

"What?" Richard asked, from around his eggy mouthful. 

"Nothing. other than you're eating like you haven't eaten in a week. Plus I was just wondering when Flake moves out, whether you'd consider moving in with me, permanently," Paul said, with a smile, before he shovelled in a mouthful of bacon.

"Really? Are you sure?" Richard asked, in surprise, even as he temporarily abandoned his current strip of bacon to stare at Paul.

"No, I'm not fucking sure. That's why I bloody asked you," Paul said, with a snorted laugh at Richard. "And Jesus Christ on a bloody fish-stick, Reesh; after all that's happened and you have to ask that?" 

Richard's gaze darted towards Flake, yet the other man seemed intent upon his pile of scrambled eggs at that moment in time; he certainly didn't seem to think anything was amiss by Pual's statement. 

"Okay, good point. Yeah, I'd really like that; thanks, Paulchen," Richard replied, even as he cast another worried glance in Flake's direction. "I don't wanna usurp you, or anything, by the way, Flake." 

"You were here, before I decided to leave," Flake pointed out, dryly. "I didn't even know I was going to leave, until last night, or rather more aptly, this morning, don't forget. I doubt I'd be usurped. You're Paul's boyfriend, to boot; you can do what you bloody well like, without my input." 

"Another good point," Richard grunted, with a nod. "I thought I'd best check, anyway." 

Paul smiled at that, yet said nothing; instead, he continued eating in silence. Richard and Flake resumed their own breakfasts until their plates were scraped clean. Richard and Paul then piled their plates high with second helpings of everything, much to Flake's horror and surprise, gaze resting suspiciously at Paul; he was, after all, used to Richard eating like an army, but Paul usually ate the normal amount of food at every meal.

"What?" Paul asked, from around a mouthful of salty bacon. 

"Are you taking after Richard, now?" Flake asked. "You never go back for second helpings."

"I'm hungry," Paul insisted, not wanting to admit that his new and improved dragon body had ramped up his appetite. 

"So I see," Flake said, as he eyed Paul with suspicion. 

"He's a growing boy, Flake," Richard mumbled from around his own filled mouth. "He needs to keep up with me. I'm keeping him busy, after all." 

He nodded towards the bedroom with a leer, making Paul laugh in the process. 

"Don't ... don't finish that thought, whatever you do, Richard," Flake said, hurriedly, as he lifted one slender hand to forestall further comment. "I need to keep my mind pure." 

"Fucking pure, my arse," Paul immediately retorted. "In your dreams, Flake. You're terrible when you get going." 

"Not as bad as you apparently are," Flake said, with a grimace. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to take my shower. I can't stand watching you two eating like piglets." 

Paul laughed, even as Flake wandered from the room in the direction of the bathroom. He shared a smile with Richard, yet neither man said a word; instead, Richard reached out to take Paul's hand and they both ate one-handed until the food was, once again, gone.

****

The remainder of the week passed pleasantly enough, with the trio working through their new lives with gusto. Richard took Paul out to the same part of the Tiergarten as he had on the morning of Paul's first change and helped him through another forced change, giving him tips on how to control it, and on how best to relax whilst his body was re-shaping itself into a different configuration. Whilst Paul still struggled with it, he found that it was a little easier than the first time had been for him, and Richard assured him on multiple occasions that it had once been the same for him, when he was first changed. Although Paul wasn't entirely convinced, he was comforted by the words, and Richard, as it turned out, was a good teacher. 

Richard helped him to dress, after Paul had rested after his change, hands soothing and caressing Paul's body as he did so; Paul wondered whether it was as much because Richard wanted to touch him as much as it was to reassure Paul himself. Whatever the reason behind it, Paul still smiled and did not discourage Richard's caresses; he liked the attentive, soothing way that his lover touched him, each one becoming a little bolder when Paul did not offer resistance or complaint.

"Thanks for helping me today," Paul told Richard as they walked toward Alexanderplatz, each movement slow and languid and lazy. "I don't think I could have done half so well without you. Then again, I still have a long way to go. It's not exactly as easy as you make it seem."

He laughed and Richard shot him a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes; Paul found himself staring, at the easy, relaxed way that Richard now carried himself, and at the way that the sunlight glittered and glistered in his lover's jewel-like eyes. 

"Don't forget, that I've lived with this crap for six months. Everything I've learned, I've had to learn the hard way, and on my own, too," Richard reminded him, laughter still warming his words despite the seriousness of them. "It'll be easier for you, as I'll be here to help. I want to help. You are my mated one, after all."

"Yes, I get it, I know, you're more experienced than me," Paul said, with a roll of his eyes, before he grinned at Richard's sudden huff of dry laughter. "So when am I gonna get to fly?" 

"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched, love," Richard said, with another laugh. "You've got time. Just concentrate on changing smoothly first. Then you can try flying."

"And then you can teach me how to throw flames," Paul said, confidently. "That's the cool part. Well, the part that's almost as cool as flying." 

Richard groaned affectionately, and tutted, before he leant in to press a kiss against Paul's cheek awkwardly, whilst they still walked.

"You're really enjoying this shit, aren't you?" he asked, just as affectionately.

"Of course I am. C'mon, I work in a comic book shop and I'm the world's biggest nerd. Of course I'm gonna enjoy it," Paul harrumphed, with a grin. 

Richard's only response was to laugh and to stop Paul in his tracks so that he could cuddle him.

****

Flake spent the majority of the week, each night after work, packing in preperation for his move to Till's flat, making up boxes and packing away the items that were exclusively his; some things that he'd shared with Paul over their time together were portioned out accordingly to whomever wanted the items in question most. Flake, for instance, was granted ownership over the Raclette grill, yet Paul was able to keep the toaster. 

Saturday dawned, and Flake packed up the final remaining things, such as his toothpaste and pyjamas, that he hadn't been able to do without in the interim. Both Richard and Paul were there to see him off, when Till came round to help with the removal of Flake's gear. 

"Hey," Till said, as he nodded a greeting to Paul and to Richard both.

He grinned at Richard, and paused with the first of Flake's boxes held roughly in his hands.

"I was gonna wait and call you on Monday, but I might as well tell you now, seeing as we're both here," Till said. "I liked how you presented yourself at your interview the other day, and so, would like to offer you a job with us, if you're still interested." 

For a moment, it looked as though Till was convinced that Richard might refuse him, yet when Paul glanced at his lover, with a happy grin upon his face, he saw that Richard was grinning happily.

"That's great. I'm still interested, y'know? I'd be happy to take the job," Richard said. "Thanks, Till." 

"No problem. Are you free a week on Monday? Can you start then?" Till asked, a soft grin working its way across his face, and smoothing out the lines of his expression into something more relaxed and gentle.

"Yeah, of course," Richard agreed, with a sharp nod. "Paul can drop me off. He's only a few doors down from you." 

"I know," Till said, with an abrupt snort of laughter as he nodded towards Flake. "My better half works with him, don't forget." 

"Don't be personal," Flake muttered, as he wandered through from his room, even though he hadn't quite caught all of Till's words. 

Till laughed properly at that, and nodded at Richard.

"See you a week on Monday, then, Richard, bright and early," he said, brightly.

"Will do," Richard said, still grinning at the other man. 

Richard and Paul then began helping with removing the last of Flake's boxes into the van that Till had hired for the purpose, and an hour later were standing in the flat that now belonged solely to Paul, and Richard, by proxy. 

"Well," Paul said, as he looked around the flat, which seemed suddenly emptier than it once had been, now that Flake was no longer there. "Guess it's just you and I, now." 

"Yeah," Richard replied, as he wrapped his arms around his lover, and pecked kisses against Paul's eyelids. "Good, isn't it?" 

Paul laughed at that, before he leant his forehead against the other man's broad shoulder. 

"Much as it sounds a disservice to Flake, but it is," Paul replied, softly. "He's got his own life, and now, so have we." 

"Yeah," Richard said, softly, as he stared down into Paul's face. "And just to think, that a car accident brought us together." 

"Yeah," Paul laughed. "Strange to think that that was only a few weeks ago. Look at all that's happened since." 

"Yeah," Richard said, with a grimace at the memory of being run over. "It hasn't been boring, I'll grant you that." 

"Definitely not," Paul snorted and he grinned, not minding that thought at all.

Richard returned the grin, before he leant forward to press a kiss against Paul's mouth.

"I love you, Paulchen," he said, softly. "My little dragon mate." 

"As I love you, you overgrown winged gecko," Paul replied, just as softly.

There was a brief pause, before Richard's laughter wound through the afternoon air, his hands, and body, a heated line against Paul's. Paul's laughter soon joined his mate's, as Richard led him through to the bedroom, to make love in the flat that was now solely theirs alone, the first time that they would do so, in the future that they would discover between them.


	18. Chapter 18

Paul slid beneath the covers with a sigh, eyes heavy with impending sleep, his body just as heavy with the same emotion. He stretched languidly, luxuriously, upon the bed, each muscle stretching and cracking as tension that had thrummed through them was relieved. He sighed again and snuggled beneath the covers with a smile, as Richard finally padded through from the bathroom, to slide beneath the covers with Paul. Paul turned his smile onto his lover, eyes still hooded with his sleepiness.

"What's funny?" Richard asked, as he settled close against Paul's body.

"Nothing, really," Paul said, truthfully. "I'm just happy." 

Richard looked surprised at that, for some reason, and his grin, when it came, was relieved and gratified. He leant in and pressed a gentle kiss against Paul's mouth, which Paul returned without hesitation.

"Good. I'm glad you're happy," Richard murmured, when the kiss had ended. "I am, too." 

Paul made a low, satisfied purring noise in his throat and slid his arms around Richard's body. He felt his lover settle closer still against him, large hand rubbing gently at his back in soothing, comforting motions. Paul sighed, mind wandering back over the past few weeks since first he'd met Richard. He remembered the first time that they'd slept together, of how fearful Richard had been of hurting Paul. Now Paul knew why Richard had been scared; with his greater, dragon strength, there had been a very real possibility that Paul could have been hurt if his lover had lost control. He counted himself lucky that Richard hadn't.

"What are you thinking about?" Richard asked, low voice quietly breaking into Paul's thoughts suddenly.

"I was just thinking of when we first slept together, of how you were so scared you'd hurt me," Paul admitted. "It was the dragon thing, wasn't it? That was why you were so scared." 

It took a moment for Richard to nod, yet nod he eventually did. 

"I didn't trust myself not to change or to hurt you when I came," Richard admitted, with a brief flush of embarrassment in the dimness of their bedroom. "I'm stronger than you, or at least I was stronger." 

"No need to worry about things like that, now," Paul assured him. "I can take it. I think it's safe to say I'm just as strong as you, now." 

"Yeah," Richard said, and there was enough hesitancy in his voice to let Paul know that there was something else on his mind. 

"What?" Paul asked, when his lover didn't immediately speak. 

"No. Nothing. You'll laugh," Richard said, and he sounded even more embarrassed to Paul's ears then. 

"No, I won't. I promise," Paul said, with a confused huff of sudden laughter. "I'll pinky-promise, if you want."

"Bloody pinky-promise. What are you? Five?" Richard asked, with a sudden hoot of laughter.

"Sometimes," Paul replied, laughing himself. "Depends on who you ask." 

Richard laughed again, and Paul was glad to see that some of his embarrassment had now fled beneath his merriment. Then Richard turned serious and he sighed, and scrubbed one hand across his face.

"I was worrying I might be too big for you," Richard admitted, from behind the shield of his hand.

"Too big? I would say don't flatter yourself, but that'd be cruel," Paul said, and he wasn't laughing. "It's another dragon thing, I suppose, isn't it?" 

"Yeah. Well, dragons aren't the smallest creatures, are we?" Richard asked, as he peered at Paul over the curve of his own hand. "And I mean that in all regards." 

"Well," Paul said, slowly, as a grin worked its way slowly across his face. "Aren't I the lucky one?" 

His leer made Richard laugh and Paul was rewarded by a gentle, grateful kiss. He smiled into it, even as he reciprocated. 

"I'm glad I didn't hurt you," Richard said. 

"I trust you," Paul said, and he meant it. "With my life, if necessary." 

"Do you?" Richard asked, and he sounded genuinely surprised at that.

"Yeah," Paul replied, immediately. "Of course." 

"Wow," Richard said, and he sounded as touched as he was surprised then. "That ... that means a lot, actually, Paul. It goes without saying that I trust you, as well." 

That admission sounded embarrassed, rushed, to Paul, yet he didn't mind. That Richard was telling the truth was obvious; he sighed and settled against his lover again, before he felt Richard's chest rising and falling against him in a contented sigh. Paul didn't speak and neither did Richard; instead, they lay there, quietly, resting in each other's arms. It was Richard who made the first move, in the end, moving closer to start pressing kisses against Paul's forehead and cheeks. Paul sighed, a shuddering, shaking exhalation that soon was swallowed and captured when Richard pressed kisses against his parted lips. Paul responded, and felt the first stirrings of arousal sparking low in his belly; he felt Richard's partial erection pressing hot and ready against his thigh and he moved closer, as his own cock began to stir. They continued kissing, hands exploring each other's bodies, fingers and palms caressing and touching and loving, until finally Richard drew away again, to dig the lube from he bedside cabinet. 

Paul stripped out of his clothing quickly and had just settled down again when Richard turned back to him; Richard grinned and quirked his eyebrows at Paul's eager nakedness, yet he didn't say anything. Instead, he rewarded Paul with a kiss and a quick grope of his erect cock. Paul shuddered in pleasure and bucked up into Richard's grasp, yet his lover's fingers fell away and Paul whined in frustrated loss. He soon was manouvred onto his stomach, before he felt the first swipe of Richard's lube-slick fingers after a brief pause. Paul rocked his hips against the bed beneath his body, enjoying the friction that both the soft sheets beneath him and Richard's fingers inside him provided, small eager whines working in his throat as the pleasure intensified. He mourned the loss of Richard's fingers when his lover finally eased away; he waited and soon Richard settled atop him and guided himself inside him. Paul moaned, a loud, breathy exhalation of pleasure rumbling in his throat as Richard pressed a brief kiss against his shoulder. 

Paul smiled and closed his eyes, before Richard began to thrust into him, hard and fast and almost sweetly desperate. Paul gave himself to Richard fully then, more fully than he ever had in the past, trying to push as much love and trust into every movement as he could. Richard's moans and gasps against his shoulder sounded different that time, more there and in the moment and even his movements felt different, as though Richard, too, was trying to prove how much he loved and trusted Paul in turn. Paul moaned, surprised at how different, how much better their love-making was that night, despite the fact that he hadn't yet been given anything to complain about whilst laying with Richard. Each movement, each thrust and kiss and caress seemed oddly bitter-sweet, and perfect and Paul gave more of himself than he ever had before; suddenly he felt an odd click in his head and his heart and his soul and he suddenly could feel what Richard was feeling, could see each emotion like a wash of colour behind his eyes, pleasure and lust written large in shades of intense pink and purple. 

Richard cried out then, and his cry was one of wonder and delight and Paul couldn't help but wonder if, he, too, was seeing the things that Paul himself was seeing. Then that question was washed away when he came, hand moving swiftly over his erection, pulling every last drop of his release from his length as he did so. He felt and saw Richard's release in a wash of intense gold-flecked red, heard Richard's dragon in his cries of release, and they both rode out the last of their shared orgasms together, before finally parting and laying, worn and exhausted beside one another. Paul found himself staring at those jewel-like eyes of his lover's, and could feel the fading pink tones of Richard's pleasure settling out into a contented orange glow.

"What the hell just happened?" Paul asked, in wonder. "No offence, but that was weird in a good way." 

Richard laughed, before he shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know, Paul, but all I do know, is that it felt good," he said, sounding as confused as Paul felt then. 

Paul reached out and took Richard's hand then and wound his fingers through his lover's. Richard smiled and lifted Paul's fingers to his lips and kissed the tips of them gently. Paul chuckled, and Richard laughed. 

"You're ticklish. It looks lilac," Richard said, in amusement. 

"Lilac, my arse," Paul said, but he sounded pleased, even to his own ears. 

He yawned and settled further against Richard's body, before his lover hooked one leg over his hips to secure him tightly against his body. Paul felt himself lazily drifting further into the arms of sleep then, and he smiled when Richard ran gentle fingers against his cheek. 

"Perhaps it's some kind of soul-bond, or something," Paul murmured, referring to the colours that he still could see of Richard's emotions. "Further proof we're meant to be." 

"Maybe," Richard agreed, and he didn't sound displeased by the idea.

Paul could see the pink of Richard's pleasure behind his eyes and he huffed in amusement. 

"So dragons communicate in colour," he murmured sleepily. "Like a synesthesia based form of telepathy." 

"Looks like," Richard said, and his voice was sleepy now. "Think about it in the morning. Tired now." 

"Hmm," Paul agreed, even as sleep claimed him for its own at last.

****

The morning dawned in as much the same way as it always did, with Paul rushing out of bed, almost late for work because the alarm didn't go off. Richard made him breakfast and they shared it in largely companionable silence. Paul still was glad to see that he could see Richard's emotions as a wash of beautiful colours behind his eyes, and by those colours, he could see the foggy murk of Richard's tiredness, coupled with his orange of contented happiness. 

"You're happy," Paul said, over the last of his orange juice. "I can see the orange of it. And I don't mean the shit in my glass, before you start." 

Richard laughed at that, before he dropped a kiss against Paul's mouth. 

"And you're contented. It's also orange," he said. 

"You know, I could get used to this," Paul observed, even as he scuffled about in an attempt to find his shoes. 

"Good, 'cos it look like you're stuck with it. And me," Richard laughed. 

"You make that sound like a bad thing, Reesh. It really isn't," Paul told him, truthfully, knowing that Richard would see the truth of his words in a wash of bright colour.

Richard's sudden bright and happy grin told him, that he had.

****

Over the course of the next few days, Richard and Paul explored their new, shared power, finding that they could detect literally anything that the other was feeling, from boredom, to irritation, all the way through to contentment and love. Paul was consistently amazed and curious about this new power, and used every chance that he got to test it out, often bombarding Richard with the colour-based form of a dragon-kiss, awash in silver and gold-flecked yellow; these kisses often seemed to amuse Richard in turn, which made Paul do it all the more. 

By contrast, Paul could feel that Richard was comforted by their latest power, denoted by the cosy burnt orange of his mood, whenever they were together, which grew stronger whenever he sensed the love that Paul felt for him. Paul, in turn, could feel the love that Richard held for him, which burned a bright and shining gold behind his eyes. Paul decided then, that of all the things that had happened to them so far, their synesthesia-based form of telepathy had to be one of the nicest, and most comforting.

****

**__**

One week later

A loud crashing, tearing sound rent the humid air asunder, as branches ripped and cascaded down from a stand of nearby trees. Richard cried out in alarm, and ran towards the trees, mind still filled with images of his lover crash-landing amongst them, dark midnight-blue body plummeting, wings outspread and flapping madly in his descent. He could still see the strident green of Paul's alarm, yet thankfully nothing of the red of pain. 

Paul was emerging from the bushes beneath the trees, grinning and in his human, yet distinctly naked form; when Richard rushed to his side and checked, he was relieved to find that there was barely a scratch upon his mate's body, which proved that the colours behind his eyes hadn't been lying. Still, he skimmed his fingers over Paul's skin again, as Paul batted him away, playfully, deep chuckles rumbling in his chest at that.

"I'm fine, Reesh," Paul said, and whirled as though to prove a point. "See? All you're doing is tickling me." 

"I was worried," Richard said, defenisively, even as his shoulders sagged in relief.

He was rewarded by a swift kiss from Paul, as warm as the day, yet twice as tender and welcome. Richard chuckled against Paul and reached round to cup one hand against Paul's naked butt, openly groping his lover. Paul laughed but noticably didn't step away; instead, he raised one eyebrow at Richard and wriggled his butt against Richard's palm.

"There's time for that, later, love," he said, gently. "I wanna try flying again. I almost had it, did you see?"

"I did," Richard said, and nodded proudly.

Paul had mastered, finally, changing into his dragon form, and was now testing out his new wings, and the power of flight that they afforded him. They'd purposefully driven outside Berlin and deep into the German countryside so they could practice, without drawing too much attention to themselves. Richard was still hoping that they would be seen only by cattle and horses, instead of the dreaded farmers he kept expecting; so far he had sensed nothing apart from themselves, yet the fear of discovery was still upon them. He didn't know what would happen to them if they actually were discovered, but he didn't think it could be anything good; humanity had the propensity to destroy that which was different, or they didn't understand, after all. 

"How was it, anyway? Did it feel good?" Richard asked, as he began to grin at Paul.

He knew how flying made him feel, as free as the proverbial bird, even though he could not, for instant, ever be mistaken for a feathered avian. He thought it best to ask the question of Paul, to appear courteous; he'd seen the yellow of wonder and the freedom of brght pink happiness behind his eyes as Paul had flown.

"Like flying in a blue dream," Paul grinned back, as he gestured up towards the expanse of wide blue sky above them. "It was fantastic."

"I've always loved flying; it feels so freeing and beautiful. Why don't you try again?" Richard asked. "One more time. I think you might do this without crashing this time." 

Paul nodded, happily, before he changed into his dragon form, body cracking and re-aligning itself into scaled and dark beauty. Richard grinned, and stepped back, allowing Paul the space he needed to be able to take off without accident. He watched as the other dragon-shifter swept up into the air, wings billowing and catching at the currents in the air, large body swooping exultantly across the skies; Paul's tail streamed out behind him like a proud banner, and Richard couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and of love again as he watched his lover flying. That time, Paul didn't crash; instead, he kept to the air, wheeling and turning and Richard could feel Paul's happiness emenating from his body in a wash of strident pink. Richard didn't hesitate in undressing, and turning, so that he, too, could join his lover in the air again, both dragons swooping and flying around each other, bodies buffeting each other playfully as they did so. Richard couldn't remember a time when he felt happiest, and he knew those times would be abundant with Paul at his side to share them. He often had to feel a certain kind of amusement, over the fact that he felt grateful towards a car accident, if only for the fact that it had turned his life into something good, and worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ... that's it! I'm afraid we've come to the end of the first story in the Kreuzberg Dragonshifters series; I'm already working on the sequels, so there will be more to come. I enjoyed writing this so much, I didn't want to leave it at just the one story, haha! Thank you so very much to everyone who's left comments and kudos on this story; I really cannot tell you how much all of it has meant to me and how appreciative I am of it all. Thank you. ♥


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